


I Wish

by rquinn3



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-06-24 00:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rquinn3/pseuds/rquinn3
Summary: Steve is a prostitute who has never felt real love before. Tony comes along and changes things.





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Sorry for the rough start. English is not my first language, and this is my first fic. I'm looking for a Beta if anyone is interested in helping with the future chapters. This story is about 3/4 finished (with a total of about 15 chapters) and I will post new chapters a few times a week.

ONE

 

            The hand that grips Steve’s dick is painfully tight, pumping him roughly like this is some game of tug-of-war. He wishes he could just cum already so it could be over, so this guy will just drop him the crisp hundred dollar bills on the nightstand and go on his way.

            “You like that, Cap?” the guy says, his hand tightening more.

            “Oh yeah, I’m so close,” Steve says back, faking it in the best way possible.

            The guy has his own dick in his hand, too. He’s almost to the edge, almost there, almost finished.

            “Come on,” Steve says, more out of desperation to get his guy off him, to let this be over. It comes out in his sexy, musky voice, though, and the guy takes it as the tipping point. He comes hard, painting Steve’s stomach with cum. The guy squeezes even harder on Steve’s dick, so painfully now that he knows he’s going to have bruises for a few days. He doesn’t want to come, he really doesn’t. But the guy isn’t going to leave until he does.

            He finally manages to tip himself over the edge with thoughts of something else, someone else’s hand on his dick, someone else pressing him into the mattress.

            Steve groans when the guy licks the cum off his thigh. Not out of pleasure, but out of annoyance. The guy doesn’t take it like that, though. He just smiles like he’s done good work.

            They sit there together for a few moments before the guy finally gets up off the bed and puts his clothes back on. He reaches into his wallet and pulls out the money owed, sitting it on the nightstand.

            “Same time next week, Cap?”

            “It’s a date,” Steve says, managing to not gag when he says it.

            The guy leaves, and when Steve hears the door click closed he gets up immediately and goes to the bathroom to run a shower. He tries not to look at his reflection in the mirror, knowing his body is bruised. It always is after his Monday appointment, so he doesn’t need to see it again, for dozenth time.

            The shower is too hot, but Steve just takes the brutal heat until his skin turns red and he starts sweating even in the water. He wants to wash Paul off him. He wants to not think about it anymore until next week, when he’ll do this all over again.

            He’s glad that Paul doesn’t actually want to fuck, because he can only imagine what pain would be involved with that. Paul is married, but he doesn’t want to cheat on his wife, and he thinks that a rough hand job in an old motel outside of town isn’t cheating. Steve really doesn’t care what the situation is. Money is money, and money pays the bills.

            When he can finally stand to look at himself again, he gets out of the shower and dries off. It only takes a few minutes, but he dresses and collects his belongings before exiting the motel room. He walks a few blocks over where he parked his car and gets in, just sitting behind the steering wheel for several moments before starting it and driving towards home.

            He lives in a dingy, one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn where the train rattles his room every time it comes by. He hates it there, but it’s been a place he can call home since he was old enough to have his own place. Maybe one day he’ll move into a nicer part of town. Maybe one day pigs will fly.

            The drive home takes about twenty minutes, but when he finally pulls up and heads inside, kicking off his shoes at the door, he goes straight bed. He’s not tired, but his body is exhausted. Every Monday is just like this. He meets Paul and then his entire being is emotionally and physically drained, but his brain is wide awake.

            In total, Steve has five long-term clients. He used to take on new clients, or see multiple clients in a day, but he’s worked out a system that works for him. His work week begins on Thursday when he meets Ryan in his penthouse downtown. Ryan pays well, and they actually have fun together. It’s almost easy enough to forget that Ryan is work, and that when they both are satisfied, he’s going to pull out a large wad of cash and press it into Steve’s hand.

            Friday is Michelle, and also his only female client. She has extreme social anxiety and was referred to him by his former Sunday client. They didn’t even have sex the first few times he visited her, just talked and got to know one another. For Michelle, it was easy to pretend Steve was her boyfriend who brought her groceries and helped her feel like a social being, even if she really wasn’t. And Steve didn’t mind the sex. He preferred men, but Michelle was so awkward and preferred complete darkness when they were together than he could pretend she was someone else.

            Saturday was Max, a closet gay who had inherited a massive dairy farm from his parents. They met Saturdays because Max’s wife and kids went out every weekend to the beach and he had the house to himself. Max was a little older, in his 50s, but Steve didn’t mind. The guy was nice enough and they’d stay cuddled up together for a while and talk about how Max could come out to his family, even though they both knew there was no intention of ever doing so.

            Sunday was Kevin. Kevin was twenty-four years old and came from a family with money. He had trouble meeting real people and preferred Steve’s consistent company. Kevin was quite flamboyant, which Steve didn’t mind, but their time together was usually quite short because Kevin had an issue with cuming too soon. And again, Steve didn’t mind because it meant his day could go on sooner.

            Finally, Monday, was Paul. The only client Steve didn’t even remotely enjoy seeing. Paul was a sadist and he had blown through all the other guys at the gay bar Steve usually picked up clients at until striking up a deal with Steve for a weekly meeting. Paul had control issues and needed to be in charge. He also liked that Steve would pretend he enjoyed what was done to him. Five hundred a week from Paul didn’t seem like nearly enough when the man had his hand squeezed around Steve’s sensitive member, but it paid the bills and until he found a better Monday client, Paul was all he had.

            Paul was the end of Steve’s work week because he left so many bruises. He needed a couple days to heal before he could see Ryan. He healed pretty fast so there were never any lingering bruises, but he still needed the two days in between just to recoup himself.

            On his days off, Steve usually draws quietly at home, or occasionally he’ll visit an art gallery a few blocks over that had once featured his art. It’s a good way to meet new kinds of people who don’t want to sleep with him, and who could help him further his career as a starving artist. He doesn’t have any real hope of that, but sometimes he meets people interested in his particular style. It’s nice to be able to talk to someone and not have to pretend.

           

            Steve wakes up Tuesday around noon, surprised that he managed to sleep so late. He stretches and grimaces a bit, but he finally gets out of bed and goes to turn on the coffee pot. As it brews him a cup, he changes into clean clothes and throws the dirty ones in the laundry hamper.

            Usually Tuesdays are cleaning days and he’d spend the whole day just scrubbing his apartment spotless. But this Tuesday he has plans later and he needs to start preparing. He was invited by a friend of a friend to an art show that doubled as a charity event for the rich and famous. He was assured that there would be plenty of people interested in his art, and even if they weren’t it would be good networking. He was promised a small space in the very back of the studio, right beside the toilets, to show a sample of his work.

            He had to pick a couple of his favorite pieces to show, and then he had to go rent a suit because he didn’t actually own one. He could clean his place tomorrow, or next week. But this show was too important to pass up.

            When the coffee machine beeped, he poured himself a steaming cup and sipped it as he approached his easel. He paused briefly before sighing, and then he began to flip through some of his latest pieces. The depictions lately were of morbid, abstract things. He didn’t want to show those, so he searched for ones a few months previous.

            He ended up picking one with a young girl and her mother in the park, having a picnic. They’re both laughing and enjoying their time together. He’d drawn it after seeing the opposite, a crying girl and her mother yelling angrily at her. He’d drawn that, too, and after a few moments of debate he picked up the opposite drawing and held them side-by-side. The lines were pristine, and he’d used yellows and greens to accent certain elements of the drawings. These two drawings were perfect for the show, and with any luck, he might be able to sell them off.

            After finishing his coffee, Steve checked his phone for the time and then went to find clean socks. He had a couple hours before he needed to be at the show, which gave him plenty of time to rent a suit and then arrive in time to set up his pieces in the back.

            He carefully packed the two drawings in brown paper and taped the ends. He then headed out to his car and put the package in the trunk and patted his pockets for his keys. Eventually he finds them and heads towards the suit rental place.

            A good friend owns the shop so when he gets there he’s greeted like a long lost brother. They jabber on for a few moments before getting down to business.

            “What kind of suit?” Adam asks, splaying his hands across the whole shop. “Are you getting married finally, or preparing for a funeral?”

            “Neither,” Steve laughs, though he’s not sure why. Neither are laughing matters. “Just an art show tonight.”

            “Are we talking a million dollar show where they’ll have the Mona Lisa, or what?”

            “Nah, just local artists. It’s a charity event for children I think.”

            “You think?”

            “The details weren’t really given. It was last-minute anyway.”

            “What sort of people will be attending?”

            “I really don’t know,” he shrugs back. “Rich I guess.”

            “So we’ll go with Armani then,” Adam insists.

            Steve laughs, but shakes his head. “I don’t want to fit in with them.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because I’m not like them.”

            They banter for a while, but eventually Adam settles on a moderately priced suit. Not too shabby, but any rich guy would know Steve wasn’t trying too hard. Adam makes Steve put it on and tailors it, putting in temporary pins that would last the night but were removeable upon return.

            “You look beautiful,” Adam comments, his words coming out loud and happy.

            “Thank you?” Steve says, trying not to go red in the face.

            “I want you to have fun tonight,” Adam goes on. “You deserve the best.”

            Steve just shrugs, because he’s pretty sure he doesn’t _deserve_ much of anything, but he lets Adam fuss over him until he’s satisfied.

            “Are you going straight there, or do you want a bag for the suit?”

            “A bag,” Steve says. “I don’t want to ruin it in the car.”

            When it’s all said and done, Steve swipes his card for the suit and then heads for the car. He takes a minute to get a burger from a drive through before making his way to the studio, glad to see that the workers are still setting up. He leaves the suit in the car and grabs his package from the trunk.

            Some of the workers nod to him when he enters the building, but for the most part they ignore him. Because he’s no one; because he’s not worth knowing. Steve doesn’t take it as an insult, though. He doubts anyone will ever remember him for anything other than decent blow jobs and a couple hours of fun.

            He tries to shake that thought from his head when he approaches the office in the back of the studio. He stops just outside the door because he can hear a heated conversation going on inside between two men. One of the voices he recognizes are the curator of the event, and the other sounds familiar but he can’t place the name.

            “What do you mean it’s not ready?” the unknown man demands. “I paid for it two months ago! I want my sculpture finished!”

            “The artist is just having trouble completing the project, sir,” the curator says. “He asked for a few more weeks, and then it’ll be delivered to you.”

            “My event is in two weeks!” the man responds. “If it hasn’t arrived by then, what am I supposed to do?”

            “I am sorry for the inconvenience, sir. The artist just needs more time.”

            “I’m giving him until next Friday to finish, and if it’s not at my house by next Friday then I’m not coming back here, and I’m letting all my friends know whose fault this is!”

            The man storms out of the office and Steve gets a brief look at his face, shock and recognition crossing it instantly. He averts his eyes to the ground so he doesn’t get caught staring. He’s seen this man on TV countless times. The richest man in the city who owns the Stark Tower, the heir to a fortune after his parents’ untimely death, the smartest, but most impossible celebrity Steve has ever seen: Tony Stark.

            “If you’re here to buy, go somewhere else,” Tony says, waving his hands at the curator.

            Steve just plans to nod, but for some reason his mouth says, “What sort of project did you have commissioned?”

            Tony stops just a few feet from Steve, turns, and looks him up and down. He clearly wasn’t expecting a response. “It was a sculpture of myself,” Tony finally says. “For an event. My birthday, actually.”

            Steve swallows and his brain tries to catch up with the fact that _Tony Stark_ is talking to him. His mind goes blank for a moment, so he just nods.

            “Sorry to hear about the delay,” he says, and then he shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out of his business cards from his wallet. “I do sculptures, and I work quick, if you find yourself needing another one in the future.”

            Tony stares at the card for several seconds before his hand robotically reaches up and takes it, studying the design carefully. He flips the card over a couple times before looking back up at Steve.

            “Steve Rogers,” Tony tries out the name. “You in the show tonight?”

            “Sort of,” he says. “Really just coming for the company, but I will have a piece here.”

            “I might stop by to see it,” Tony responds, and then he’s gone. Just walks away, end of conversation.

            Steve’s mouth is suddenly very dry and he feels like he might hyperventilate. He bites his lip to get a hold of himself again. His head finally catches up and he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t usually get nervous around celebrities like that. He’s had a couple high rolling clients over the years. But for some reason Tony Stark was different. He was attractive, and assertive, and Steve found it a little more enticing than he should.

            He hadn’t actually been attracted to anybody for a long time. In his line of work, it was impossible to have any real relationships. He’d stop trying after developing the Thursday to Monday schedule, and it worked for him. But it wasn’t frequently that his dick stirred at the thought of someone who wasn’t going to pay him for sex.

            He shook his head to put the thought away. It was bad to dwell on things like that, especially because he knew he’d probably never see Tony Stark in person again. Might glance at him on the TV, but Tony would never call and he would never think about Steve Rogers again. And Steve smiles a bit, because at least he got to meet the guy once.

            He finally enters the curator’s office and knocks on the door.

            “Steve,” the man smiles gently. “How’s it going?”

            “It’s going,” Steve nods back. “How about you?”

            “Just a stressful day before the show,” he laughs. “But show me what you brought so we can get it up on the wall.”

            Steve nods and unwraps his drawings. He sits them side-by-side, first the sad girl and then the happy scene he depicted. He watches the curator’s face, looking for signs of interest or annoyance. To his relief, the man smiles brightly at him.

            “These are perfect, Steve! I love how you turned this scene into something happy. I think the kids will love it, too.”

            “Kids?”

            “The show benefits the children’s cancer ward at the hospital. A group of them were invited to come by and see the paintings before the gallery opens. They should be here in an hour, so you should go get this put up before they arrive.”

            Steve nods and heads to the spot they had agreed upon, the tiny space beside the bathroom wall that was just big enough to host his canvas. He was used to hanging his own art, so it didn’t even bother him when none of them workers offered to help. There wasn’t much help he needed anyway. Just stick the canvas on the wall and leave it at that.

            He was surprised to see that name plate had been set up for him on the wall already. It was cut from steel like other well-known artists and just seeing it made Steve’s chest swell. Maybe people would think his art was worth looking at, especially since the curator had done a great job of helping him blend in with the other artists.

            When the drawings were up on the wall and took a step back to admire. It actually looked pretty good. The lighting here wasn’t bad and his color scheme fit well with the background of the wall. All in all, even if no one bought his work, it was still nice to have it on display.

            He headed back to the curator’s office to thank him but found it empty. He waited for a few moments before checking the time and deciding he could probably help out around the gallery for an hour before the patrons started arriving, and then he’d change into his suit for the event.

            He was actually a little nervous now, wondering what people would think, or if they’d even notice his canvases in the back. But the experience was enough for him. Just being invited to a high-end event was enough. It was rare he got to enjoy himself, so he was going to make the most of the night.

 

 


	2. TWO

TWO

 

            When the children start arriving for the gallery preview, Steve goes to change into his suit. It felt awkward changing in the bathroom, but there was ultimately no other choice. He adjusted his bowtie in the mirror and gave himself another quick once-over before hurrying out and dropping his regular clothes back into the car. When he returned, he was greeted like a guest who belonged.

            Most artists would stand beside their work to explain questions anyone might have, or to discuss their muse, but Steve preferred to walk around. He didn’t want his work to have his face, necessarily. He wanted people to make judgements on the work, not on the artist.

            The children from the hospital were laughing and having a good time, which made Steve smile. He followed behind their convoy and watched them point and question certain paintings or pieces of art. Some of the children were carrying IV poles with them, and for some reason, that hurt Steve’s chest a little. The poles didn’t seem to affect the kids at all, though, as if it were just another part of their day. They had accepted that being attached to something else was non-negotiable.

            Steve stopped at few pieces of work for a longer than he’d stopped at others. There was one painting of a horse on a rainy night, standing alone apart from a crowd of people. The horse looked a little sad. The painting was titled, simply, “Horse.” The artist was one Steve didn’t know personally, but he’d heard the name. He wasn’t sure why the painting got under his skin. Something about a lonely horse just made him feel funny.

            The other one he stopped at was a sculpture of a family. There were two smiling parents, each with one hand on a child’s shoulder. The child was not amused, nor was he smiling. The children from the hospital seemed to like the sculpture as well. They asked why the boy was sad, but the artist wasn’t around yet to answer. Steve put a mental note in to go back later and ask the same question.

            The children trailed through the gallery until coming to the very end: Steve’s drawings by the bathrooms. They looked for a while, seemingly quiet, before one finally piped up, “I like the happy picture better.” The rest of the children agreed instantly.

            “Why?” their chaperone asked. “What do you like about the happy girl?”

            They’re quiet again for a moment. “Everybody wants to be happy,” says a girl in the back of the line.

            “I agree,” their chaperone says. “I like the happy picture better, too.”

            “I don’t like it when mommies are mean,” one of the children says, and the rest agree quickly.

            Steve listens to them chatter about his work for a few more moments until they move on. He stands back a few feet to look at it from their perspective, and he’s glad he drew the happy girl after all. The scene should have been a mother and her daughter having a good day, but in reality, it hadn’t been like that at all. The mother was on her phone, and her daughter was sitting by herself quietly until the mother yelled at her, and then the girl had cried. It had been a sad thing to see.

            By the time Steve is done analyzing at his own work, he realizes that there are more people entering the gallery. It’s a few minutes before dark and the buzz of conversation has increased. He walks back to the front and sees that many of the artists have arrived and they are chatting with patrons about their pieces, or laughing with other local artists just to pass the time.

            Steve goes to lean against a wall and watches the scene unfold. More people come in, some high-ranking faces that Steve has seen on TV. There are even a few journalists wandering through and taking note of whose who. For some reason, Steve finds his eyes drawn to the door where security has set up. They are checking invitations and admitting people into the event. Steve is looking for Tony Stark, and he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until he sees the man flash an invitation and enter the room.

            He quickly averts his eyes to the floor, trying not to get caught watching. It must have worked because when he looks up again, Tony has moved through the crowd and is walking away from him. He sighs in relief, even though he’s not sure why he was worried to begin with, and then takes a few uncertain steps before he decides to follow behind Tony. He wants to hear the man’s comments on the artwork. Maybe he just wants to hear him talk. He isn’t sure.

            He keeps a pace of a few people behind Tony so that he doesn’t arise suspicion. But he’s glad he decided to get closer because Tony Stark is one interesting character. He has a comment about every piece of art he passes, and even asks questions to the artist. The further along in the gallery they get, though, the quicker Steve realizes that eventually they are going to come to his work, and eventually Tony is going to have a comment about it. He is suddenly very nervous.

            It seems to take hours, but finally they meander their way to the very last row of works and Steve feels like he’s going to be sick. Tony stops and stares at a few pieces, but he goes on until he’s reached Steve’s. He stares at it for a long time, just like the children did. He reaches out and touches the name plate with his fingers, and Steve can’t tell but it looks like he recognizes the name from when they met earlier.

            “He turned this sad day into a happy one,” Tony says finally. “Where’s the artist? I want to ask him something.”

            Steve tries to hide, but Tony spots him and their eyes connect. It sends a jolt of lightning through his body, and somehow, mechanically, he approaches the drawing.

            “What do you call this?” Tony asks instantly, not even greeting him.

            “Um,” he sputters. “It’s called ‘I wish,’” he finally gets out.

            “Why?”

            “Because I wish the day had been like this for the little girl, instead of a sad day.”

            “This was real?” Tony questions.

            “Yes.”

            Tony stares at him for a few moments, so long that it makes him uncomfortable and he has to shift on his feet.

            “I like it,” Tony finally says. “How much is it? I want to buy it.”

            Steve’s eyes go wide. “Um…,” he says again.

            “I’ll give you a million right now. That enough?”

            Steve swallows hard. “It’s, uh, for charity,” he finally says. “They’re going to auction it.”

            “So I can’t pay you, and you just give it to me?”

            “N-no, Mr. Stark,” Steve says. “The auction is online, I believe. You can place a bid there.”

            Tony eyes him, and for some reason, Steve finds the courage to eye him back. They stand like that for an uncomfortable amount of time, so long that other people start to notice how strange it is.

            “Where’s the bar here?” Tony finally asks, and suddenly the tension is diffused. One of the workers points out the entrance to the bar and Tony starts to walk off, but he stops and turns to Steve. “I’ll be in there, if you want to join me,” he says.

            Steve stares, dumfounded, before nodding slowly. He doesn’t follow, though. Just watches until Tony disappears into the bar.

            He bites his lip, unsure of what to do. Was it a real invitation, or was Tony just pulling his leg? Maybe he wants to talk more about the drawing. Maybe he wants to just mess with Steve’s head. He’s not sure, and he doesn’t like the way his stomach is feeling right now, so instead of heading to the bar he makes his way into the bathroom and tries to calm himself down.

            It takes him a long time, but eventually his breathing his even and his head is clear. He wanders back into the crowd and is surprised to see a large number of people gathered around his work. They’re talking about how Tony Stark wanted to pay a million for it, how Steve could be a big up and coming artist.

            Steve has to walk away from the hype because it makes him nervous again. He’s going to head for the front door, to his car, and run home, but something pulls his eyes back to the bar Tony said he’d be in. He doubts Tony is even in there anymore. It’s been nearly an hour. And even though his head is screaming at him to not go in there, but feet lead the way instead.

            He’s surprised that the bar is much quieter than the gallery. Only a few people are at the counter, and three or four in the booths. His eyes adjust to the darker lighting and he scans, not seeing Tony instantly, and his chest feels a little relief. He’s about to walk back out when someone calls, “Rogers!” from a booth at the back.

            Steve’s eyes jump over there and see Tony with a glass of brandy gesturing for him to come over. His feet again do the thinking and he approaches the table.

            “Sit down,” Tony commands, and Steve does.

            “Sorry it took me a while,” Steve says instantly, just to break the silence.

            “I didn’t notice,” Tony shrugs, downing the remainder of his glass and raising his hand for another one. “I wanted to talk to you about the sculpture thing,” he goes on. “I need a sculpture of me in two weeks. Can you do it?”

            Steve’s mouth goes dry. “Um, what’s the medium?” he asks. “Clay?”

            “Well, I wanted it marble. But I don’t think there’s enough time to order another slab and have it delivered before the party.”

            “I could do clay, and then overlay it with a paint to make it look marble,” Steve says before his head catches up. “Won’t last as long as the marble, but won’t cost as much either.”

            Tony laughs at that. “I’m not worried about cost,” he says, waving his hand. “I just want it finished so it can be the center piece at my party.”

            “I prefer wood, to be honest,” Steve goes on. “I could carve it, then varnish and paint. Would definitely be ready within two weeks.”

            “Wood?”

            “Yes.”

            Steve does some quick calculations in his head. He works quickly, but two weeks is short notice. And he’d need time to have the medium delivered, and then he’d need a way to transport it to wherever Tony was having this party.

            “I can only work after 5pm most days,” Steve says. “And I’d need to work in a quiet environment, somewhere near to where the sculpture will be delivered, if possible.”

            “My house,” Tony says. “You could use the whole two weeks and sculpt the thing right in the spot it’s going.”

            “Alright, that saves time. I’d need to be finished within a week so the varnish would have time to dry before painting.” He’s mostly thinking out loud, but Tony seems fascinated with his mental calculations. “I can start tomorrow,” he finally says. “If you can get the supplies delivered by tomorrow morning, I can come by and begin working.”

            Tony laughs a bit. “You’re quite confident, aren’t you?”

            “I work fast,” Steve says again.

            “I don’t even know if you’re a real sculpture-ist,” Tony says. “Do you have any to show?”

            “No.”

            “Any references?”

            “No.”

            “When’s the last time you woodworked?”

            “Not frequently. It’s been a while,” Steve admits.

            “But you can draw,” Tony says slowly. “And I like your style.” He pauses for a moment, looking Steve over. “Fine. I’ll pay you only once the project is done on time. Deal?”

            Steve nods. “Yes. Deal.”

            “Then come over tomorrow, and have a list of supplies sent to this number so I know what to have ordered.” Tony hands him a card with a phone number on it. “That’s my number, by the way,” he continues. “Don’t give it to anybody.”

            “Of course not.”

            “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            Steve nods, starts to get up, but turns back. “I don’t know your address.”

            “Big tower with my name on it, can’t miss it,” Tony says.

            “Oh, okay. Tomorrow then.”

            Steve gets up confidently and even makes it to the front of the gallery before he feels like his legs might give out. He holds his breath until he gets to his car, and when he gets in, he lets it out as slowly as possible. It takes a while before he is confident in his ability to drive home safely, but finally he pulls out of the parking lot and heads towards Brooklyn.

            He tries to keep his mind blank because he’s not sure he can handle the excitement and confusion at the same time. He needs to soak in a bathtub, and just…think about what just happened before he can react properly. He can’t decide if this whole this was a terrible joke, or if it was a terrible mistake, or if it could somehow lead to something good. What he does know, however, is that he is terrified of tomorrow.

            Arriving home took a few minutes longer than expected because he’d missed his exit while being stuck in his thoughts. But eventually he gets out, grabs his clothes from the back seat, and heads inside. A neighbor sees him and whistles approvingly at his suit, and Steve just smiles and nods politely before unlocking his door and entering his small apartment.

            He starts stripping out of the suit, not stopping until he’s naked. He hangs the suit carefully on a hanger and puts it by the front door to return to Adam tomorrow morning. He then heads towards the bathroom and runs a bath.

            It feels strange, because he hasn’t taken an actual bath in so long. It’s usually five minute showers or the burning hot ones after meeting with Paul on Mondays. But today he wants to take a long, warm bath and think about what happened at the gallery, with _Tony Stark_.

            Just seconds before getting in he remembers that he needs to send Tony a list of supplies he needs, so he goes to find the business card he’d been given and starts to write out a text message. He doesn’t want to sound too formal, but not too causal, either. He reads it a dozen times before pressing send, and then adds a quick, “Thank you” at after that.

            He’s about to stick his foot into the water when his phone buzzes and he takes a look, smiling when he realizes it’s from Tony. “10/4 Master Sculptor. Supplies will be delivered by 8am.”

            Steve takes his phone as he eases into the water, putting it carefully on the shelf as he dips his body below the surface. His phone buzzes again so he has to wipe his hand on a towel before grabbing it. The message reads, “What time can I expect you?”

            He sends back, “I’ll shoot for 8, unless that’s too early for you.”

            “8 is great,” he gets back.

            He thinks that maybe their conversation is over, so he puts his phone back on the shelf and starts to get his hair wet so he can shampoo it, but yet another message dings onto his phone.

            “What do you eat in the morning?”

            He stares at it for a long time, trying to decipher the words. He’s not sure if Tony is planning to feed him, or if he wants to know what does the average American eat for breakfast. He stares at the words until they go blurry and then realizes that he’s hesitated too long.

            “Usually skip it,” he sends back. It’s not a lie. He can’t remember the last time he got up early enough to eat breakfast anyway.

            “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day :,-( ,” he gets back in response.

            He knows he shouldn’t, but he does anyway. Steve sends, “What’s your typical breakfast?”

            A few seconds later he gets back, “Honestly, I usually skip it too.”

            They make small talk for a few more minutes, but eventually Steve starts to get cold in the water and decides he should probably let Tony get back to whatever it is Tony is doing, so he sends a quick, “Heading to bed, see you in the morning,” before putting his phone back on the shelf and washing his hair quickly.

            He’s just about to get out when he gets another message, and he looks at it as soon as he can dry his hand on a towel. “Good night. Get good sleep. Need my artist to be in tip top shape.”

            An unexpected amount of blood rushes south and Steve takes a confused look down at his dick, which is twitching with interest. He takes one more look at the message before putting his phone back on the shelf and then wraps a hand around himself.

            He hasn’t done this for the pure pleasure of it in a very long time. It’s been quite a while since anyone even piqued his interest in that way. But the instant attraction to Tony was undeniable at the gallery earlier, and now that they’ve chatted a bit it’s impossible to ignore his growing lust for the other man.

            His hand pumps around himself, slowly at first, and then he feels a bit embarrassed when he grabs his phone and googles images of Tony Stark. There are millions of them out there, but he finds one with Tony on the beach, shirtless, making a funny pose. He’s a lot younger in this picture, but it’ll do just fine. Steve closes his eyes and imagines that he’s there on the beach, and he and Tony are together, they touch each other, hands roaming up and down each other’s bodies.

            Steve grunts a little when he cums. Long white lines streak across his belly and he’s glad he did this while still in the bath so he could wash himself clean again.

            He eventually gets out of the tub and drains the cold water. He wraps a towel around his waist and heads over to his bed, not bothering to get dressed. He lays down on his back, arm over his forehead, and thinks about what he just did: Jacking off to the thought of Tony Stark, who as of tomorrow, will be his boss.

            He’s completely surprised that it was even possible. Sex has lost all meaning for him and is not usually a pleasurable experience. But it was the first time in a long time he’d cum just because he felt horny. No one was paying him. He did it because he wanted to. It’s actually a…good feeling. A normal thing to do.

            When he finally falls asleep, it’s with a smile on his face.

 


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not know anything about sculpting of any type, or art really...so...sorry to those who might see right through what I have clearly made up as possible.

THREE

 

            Steve’s alarm goes off way too early and he groans as he reaches around to shut it off. He takes a look at the time, 7:30 AM, before groaning loudly and slowly sitting up in bed.

            His towel had fallen off him in the night, but he disregards it as he walks through the house and puts on a pot of coffee before going to get dressed. He sleep-walks his way into a pair of pants and shoves his feet into socks before finding a comfortable shirt he can stand to work in.

            When the coffee pot beeps, he pours a cup and then heads for the door, grabbing the suit on the hangar on his way and locking up on the other side. He doesn’t have time right now to bring the suit back to Adam, so he’ll have to do it a bit later. Adam won’t mind, he’s sure. And if he does, he’ll just charge a late return fee.

            It feels weird having to do so, but Steve puts “Stark Tower” into his GPS and sits the phone in the seat next to him. He’s seen Stark Tower in the distance, but never been closer enough to actually know where to park or how to get in. He’s actually kind of nervous about going there. Just the stress of driving through the city and somehow having to explain to a guard at the tower that he’s there to see Tony, on invitation of Tony Stark himself, without sounding like a crazy stalker.

            His GPS says it’ll take about thirty minutes to get there, so he’s got thirty minutes to be stuck in his own head for a while. The memory of last night, and the picture of a shirtless Tony, is still fresh in his mind and he wishes he had something else to think about. Because he’s pretty sure that he’s going to get hard again if he doesn’t stop thinking about that picture, about Tony touching him.

            _Stop!_ he yells at himself. It doesn’t really work, but it does help stall the growing bulge in his pants. He thinks about old ladies and cabbage for the rest of the ride, and to his relief when he pulls up to the guard shack at the tower, any interest in his previous thoughts has dissipated. The nervousness takes over when he rolls down the window and a guard comes out to greet him.

            “Steve Rogers?” the guard questions.

            “Um, yes?”

            “Mr. Stark is expecting you. Pull to the front and someone will park your car. Go inside, 51st flood.”

            “O-okay. Thanks.”

            The iron gate opens and Steve pulls inside, feeling trapped suddenly when the gate closes behind him. He drives up to the stairs that lead inside the building and gets out slowly, surprised when a man greets him.

            “I’ll park your car, sir,” the man says.

            “Um, okay,” Steve nods. “How do I…get inside?” he asks.

            “Go in through the door,” the guy says obviously.

            Steve hesitates for too long, so the man points to the stairs and then pulls away in Steve’s car.

            He slowly walks up the stairs to the first floor of Stark Tower, feeling completely out of his element. When he gets to the door, it opens automatically and he looks around, expecting to see another worker letting him in, but there is no one. When he steps through the threshold, a voice says, “Welcome to Stark Tower, Mr. Rogers. Please proceed to the elevator and go to the 51st floor.”

            “O-okay…,” Steve says.

            His eyes scan around the room and land on an elevator straight ahead. He really hopes no one is watching him being so indecisive because it looks pathetic, but he’s very nervous. He doesn’t feel like he belongs in this place. It’s too nice.

            When he gets on the elevator, the 51st floor button is already lit up so he just stands there awkwardly until the doors slide shut and starts to ascend. It seems to move impossibly fast, because a few seconds later, the doors slide open again and the scenery has changed. Instead of the lobby, he’s in what appears to be a house.

            Steve steps out into the room and looks around, again hesitantly and he’s sure he looks ridiculous at this point.

            “Hello?” he calls. “Mr. Stark?”

            He doesn’t get an immediate answer, so he takes a few steps around the room. It’s extravagantly decorated, so lavish that it makes Steve very uncomfortable. He’s suddenly doubting his skills as an artist capable of producing a sculpture that Tony will appreciate. It’s probably just his own self-doubts coming through, because he knows he does good work, but compared to the millions that must have been spent just furnishing this place, he doesn’t know if his sculpture will fit the décor.

            “Steve,” says a voice from behind him, and when he spins around he sees Tony in a black T-shirt and slacks, no shoes, looking slightly confused.

            “Uh, Mr. Stark,” Steve greets. “Am I early?”

            “No,” he says back. “I lost track of time. Make yourself at home; I’ll be back in a minute.”

            Tony disappears around the corner and Steve is left standing there trying to get the image of a disheveled Tony Stark out of his head.

            Twenty minutes later Tony reappears wearing fresh clothes, hair brushed, and his beard trimmed.

            “Long night,” Tony says, as if that will somehow explain his previous appearance. “The supplies were delivered an hour ago in the ballroom,” he goes on. “I’ll show you to them.”

            Steve follows, trying hard not to check out Tony’s ass but it’s nearly impossible for him to avoid doing. He really hopes there aren’t cameras in there to catch him in the act.

            “I realized that our impromptu agreement didn’t over the details in full,” Tony says as they get back on the elevator. “Payment, what you’re sculpting, that sort of thing.”

            “Oh,” Steve says quietly. “I guess I…,” he trails off. He was too excited about working with Tony that he didn’t even think about that stuff? “I’m open to negotiation,” he finally finishes.

            “Good. I figure we can work out the details when you see the scope of the project.”

            Steve is confused for a moment, but when the elevator opens and Tony leads him into what appears to be a ballroom, he becomes increasingly nervous. He is an artist, and he is confident in his work, but he’s suddenly doubting his ability to _wow_ Tony Stark and all the guests he will be hosting. Tony has all the money in the world. Why would he pay a random artist to make him a centerpiece for an extravagant party?

            “So, uh, what is the scope of the project?” Steve asks.

            Tony laughs, and it sounds almost nervous. “The sculpture is of me,” he begins. “I want it to show my good side,” he says, pointing to his left, as if it somehow more perfect than his right. “And the rest of me, too. Head to toe.”

            “Okay,” Steve nods, because it’s not that difficult so far.

            “And I’ll be wearing something business-casual, like what I’m wearing now.”

            “Okay,” Steve says again, waiting for the kicker. There has to be something to this project that he’s not understanding. It sounds like a pretty typical sculpture to him, pretty easy too. Might take the rest of the week to finish, but he’s confident he can do it.

            “And I want to look like I’m having fun, but not too much fun,” Tony goes on. “Serious face with a smile kind of thing.” Tony laughs suddenly, but it doesn’t seem to be related to what he said before. “Look, I guess this isn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be. The other guy, I made him sketch me naked and I wanted to display myself in marble. But after thinking about it, I don’t necessarily want my guests to see me in all my glory.”

            Steve grins, “I understand,” he says. “So clothed, neutral face, done in a week. Nothing to it, Mr. Stark.”

            “Unless you think the naked sculpture is a better idea,” Tony says, and Steve’s eyes widen. What he wouldn’t give to draw Tony Stark naked and then carve his body into the wood, immortalizing him forever.

            “I think whatever you want me to do, I will do,” Steve says simply.

            “I like that,” Tony says back, his voice curious and somewhat seductive.

            They finally come to the large pile of supplies that were delivered. The basswood is a massive chunk that will certainly have to be trimmed down before Steve can start carving anything. It’s eight feet tall, about four feet thick and probably weighs a couple hundred pounds. All the tools he needs have been provided as well. Paints, lacquers, everything he asked for is right here.

            “How’d you have it delivered so quickly?” he asks.

            Tony shrugs. “I ask, people do.”

            He nods in response, sort of wishing he hadn’t asked. It wasn’t easy to forget that Tony could probably buy the entire city of New York and not even flinch when he looked at his bank account.

            “So, if you’re okay with it, I’d like to take a few sketches of you before I get started,” Steve says. “A close-up of your face, and then one or two of your body at different angles so I can get an idea of what I’m working with.” He talks absentmindedly, not meaning to let his mind wander where it shouldn’t go.

            “Sure. I cleared my schedule for today so I’m all yours,” Tony says, and it doesn’t help the growing sensation in Steve’s low belly.

            “Alright. Do you have somewhere with natural light?” Steve asks, clearing his throat so it doesn’t crack when he asks.

            “I’ve got a rooftop garden. Will that work?”

            “Absolutely,” Steve says.

            He grabs a pencil and the sketchpad from the top of the supply pile and follows Tony back to the elevator. They ascend once again until they reach the rooftop with a _ding_ and the doors slide open.

            The weather is nice, so this is the perfect place to draw Tony. There’s a small two-seater table in the middle of the garden, as if Tony were expecting Steve to need exactly this space to draw in.

            “You can take a seat,” Steve says. “I’m going to draw your face first. Faces, and especially expressions, are tricky to carve without a frame of reference.”

            Tony sits down and Steve takes a breath before sitting opposite him. He starts drawing instantly, making light lines as he sketches Tony’s jawline, his ears, even the way his hair just barely falls onto his forehead. It probably takes him half an hour to just sketch the outline, not filling in any facial features yet. The whole time, Tony is silent.

            He seems to like to watch Steve work. He will occasionally shift if he becomes uncomfortable sitting still for so long, but their eyes never meet. Steve is pretty sure that if they did, he wouldn’t be able to hide the burning in his stomach, the blood that is rushing south and threatening to expose him.

            Steve finally makes it in to shade Tony’s mustache, then draws his lips so carefully and slowly that he’s pretty sure they’ve been sitting there for years. He traces over the lines, darkening them. He starts on the nose, moving up and up until it’s inevitable, he has to look into Tony’s eyes to be able to draw them.

            “You could have just printed a picture of me off the internet,” Tony says absentmindedly.

            “Could have,” Steve agrees.

            “But I like this better. Nobody’s ever successfully made me sit still this long.”

            “If you’re tired you can take a break.”

            “I’m alright.”

            “I’m almost done anyway,” he says. “This is the hardest part. Just free-drawing your face. It would have been easier if I had felt the lines before starting.”

            “What?”

            Steve gulps. Did he say that out loud?

            He plays it off and laugh a bit. “It’s easier, if you can feel what you’re drawing before you start. That way you have an idea of where the lines need to go, an invisible weight and texture that helps lead the way.”

            Tony doesn’t respond, just stares back at Steve as he finishes drawing the eyes. They look at each other for another moment after he’s done until Steve clears his throat. “All finished,” he says, turning the sketchpad around so Tony can see. Tony inspects it before nodding his approval.

            “Looks like my face,” he says. “Can I stand up now?”

            “Yes. I’m done for now.”

            “You don’t want my body?”

            Steve chokes. “What?”

            Tony grins a little. “You don’t want to draw my body right now?”

            “Uh, no. Maybe after I get started. I want to at least have the slab carved down to size, then I’ll do the drawing.”

            “Alright then. I guess…get to work?”

            “Alright,” Steve nods.

            They head back to the elevator together and get on. Tony presses the floor for the ballroom, and when it arrives there, Steve steps off.

            “I’ll be in my lab,” Tony says, holding the door open. “If you need me, it’s the basement level.”

            Steve nods again, and the elevator slides shut, and suddenly he’s alone in this big room. He takes a breath, trying to get in the mood to start shaping up the wood slab. He walks towards the pile of supplies and starts to sort out what’s what, moving what he doesn’t need immediately and standing finally in front of the slab with a pencil and a ruler in his hands.

            He measures off the top foot of the wood, since Tony stature won’t need all eight feet of the block. He’d going to leave the bottom foot of wood for a base and then whittle the extra inches off as he works. He’s also going to cut the block in half long-ways, which will give him two, two-foot thick sections. He probably won’t even need the other section, but it’s good to have in case he royally screws up in the beginning.

            He marks off what needs to be cut and then goes to plug the saw in. He’s glad that he was given a long extension cord because the room is massive, and the sculpture is in the middle of the floor. He’s got enough slack in the cord to work with, so he turns it on and carefully, carefully slices off the top foot, and then maneuvers around the block to begin cutting from one side.

            The saw isn’t long enough to cut all the way through, so when he’s done sawing through half, he moves to the other side and begins to saw the other side. Finally the block is in two pieces and Steve is covered in sawdust.

            He moves the extra block pieces out of the way so he can take a good look at the new slab he has formed. It looks excellent with nice, smooth sides. Just begging to be whittled into.

            The next step is to draw a body shape onto the wood and saw it down to size, but suddenly Steve wished he had in fact drawn Tony’s body. He didn’t get a feel for how thick the man’s shoulders were, or how wide his waist was. He’s just going to have to take a rough guess and cut the body shape bigger, and then carve it down when he gets to it.

            He starts with drawing a body shape onto the wood, and then has to redraw it because it doesn’t look quite right, too small for Tony’s form. He draws it twice more before sighing and taking a step back. One wrong cut and the whole thing will be wrong from the start. He needs to measure Tony. He should have done it earlier.

            He takes a step back, wiping sawdust from his face and clothes, before grabbing the tape measure and heading to the elevator. Tony said he was in the lab on the basement level, so that’s where Steve is going to go. The elevator dings when it reaches his floor and Steve steps on, cautiously pressing the button for the basement and then stepping back to lean against the wall as the lift descends.

            It’s only seconds later but finally he arrives in the basement and feels, once again, completely out of his element. He’s covered in sawdust and he feels like it’s going to somehow intrude on whatever Tony is working on. This whole floor is covered in computers and equipment that look like they cost more than Steve’s whole life is worth.

            In the distance, all the way across the lab, Steve can see Tony lying on the floor, just in a black undershirt and the same pants from earlier, as he welds something in place. He slowly approaches, hoping he doesn’t startle the man while he’s at work.

            “Um, Mr. Stark?” Steve says when he’s within hearing distance.

            Tony jumps, but then he grins. “Forgot you were here,” he says. He gets up and wipes the invisible dirt from his hands onto his pants. “Sorry, I get in the groove sometimes and forget everybody exists.”

            “No problem. Sorry to bother you, I just needed your measurements for the sculpture.”

            “Alright,” Tony says. “How do we do this?”

            Steve smiles a bit. “Are you ready now?”

            Tony nods. “No time like the present.”

            Steve approaches him, taking the tape measure long-ways and measuring Tony from head to toe, writing it down before moving on. He measures across Tony’s shoulders, then down his arms, from one leg to one foot, and the other. He measures Tony’s waist, and lastly his chest. The whole thing takes less than five minutes, but it’s making him flush.

            “Looks like you’ve been working,” Tony comments, ruffling Steve’s hair while he’s writing something down. Saw dust plumes into the air and Steve just nods.

            “I got the first cuts made,” he says. “The wood looks good. It’s a perfect slab.”

            “That’s good to know.”

            Steve takes a step back, wanting to ask if he could “feel the lines” but not sure how Tony feels about being touched. He decides he can probably sculpt without having to make Tony uncomfortable, but it’s just something he’s always done.

            Tony seems to know what he’s thinking because his body goes rigid for a second before he takes a step closer. “You can…measure with your hands, if you need to,” he says, and it comes out just as awkwardly as Steve feels about it.

            “If it’s too weird for you, I don’t have to,” Steve says quickly. “I can probably do it without a physical measurement.”

            “I want a perfect sculpture, not a probably sculpture,” Tony insists, and he takes another step. “Just do it. We’re both grown ups here.”

            Steve nods and puts the tape measurer in his pocket. He tries not to let his breath shudder as he reaches out and briefly makes contact with Tony’s sides. It’s like electric running through him, and he knows that if he doesn’t hurry, this is going to make him way too hot.

            He closes his eyes, knowing Tony is watching him curiously, and moves his hands from Tony’s sides up to his shoulders. He takes mental notes about how it feels, how the skin curves along muscles, how Tony’s breath sucks in when he reaches a sensitive place on his skin.

            Steve moves his hands until they’re flat against Tony’s stomach, feeling slowly and trying to keep his thoughts strictly professional. He moves them up, almost reaching Tony’s shoulders again before he feels something under the thin material of Tony’s shirt. It feels like a scar, a long, deep scar.

            Steve finally opens his eyes and steps back, scratching his head and then looking at his feet.

            “Sorry if that was weird,” he confesses. “It just helps me get to know the art I’m working on.”

            “I’m the art?” Tony laughs.

            “The model?” Steve laughs back. He doesn’t mention feeling the scar, or his curiosity about it. He wonders what could have happened to his man to cause such a deep blemish like that. Did it hurt, does it hurt now?

            “Alright,” Steve says. “I’ve got what I need. I’ll work for a few more hours and then head home.”

            Tony nods. “What time can you come tomorrow?”

            Steve’s stomach twists. He forgot about real life. He forgot about his clients, and his promises to them, and his responsibilities.

            “After five,” he finally says. “But I can work through the night if you’re okay with that.”

            “Do you have another job?” Tony asks curiously.

            “Yes.”

            “What do you do?”

            “Independent contractor,” Steve lies easily. “Whatever people need me to do, I do.” It’s not technically a lie, really. That’s exactly what he does.

            “Alright. Well, come over when you’re ready tomorrow. I’ll let the guard shack to know to be expecting you. I may or may not be here. I have an event tomorrow.”

            “Thank you,” Steve says graciously. “I should be able to saw out the body shape tonight, and then I’ll head home.”

            “Alright.”

            Steve heads back to the elevator and then gives one final wave to Tony before the doors close and he heads back up to the ballroom. He has to adjust his pants slightly, annoyed with himself for being unable to keep it professional. It’s so strange for him because nothing affects him like this usually. He doesn’t get hot and bothered when he sees an attractive man on the streets. He doesn’t have to hide a bulge in his pants when he’s anywhere else. What is it about Tony Stark that does this to him?

            He rubs his neck as he stands in front of the block of wood, finally taking a breath and forcing himself to get a hold of his thoughts. He takes out his measuring tape and begins to draw Tony’s form on the wood, this time in perfect, precise lines. He leaves an extra few inches so he will have enough space to carve out detail, but eventually he has the body drawn and is ready to saw off the excess.

            The saw staring up kicks his mind back into work mode and he starts to carefully slice off pieces of wood. The whole thing takes him two hours. The lines are sharp and he is glad when he’s finally finished and he has a faceless body standing before him.

            His arms are sore from holding the saw up for so long. He puts it down and moves around the slab, carefully looking for anything he might have missed. He runs his hands along the wood, his memory going back to when he did this to Tony, feeling the way his body moved and how his muscles rippled under his touch.

            The wood certainly needs detail, but for the most part, it is exactly where Steve wants it to be. He’s ready to stop for the night, because he knows if he starts actually carving, he’ll get so lost in it that he’ll work until he falls asleep from sheer exhaustion. And he can’t do that. Because his client is going to be waiting for him in the morning. He has to leave this fantasy world he’s built to go back to reality.

            Steve dusts off his hair and clothes again, taking a few minutes to sweep up as much of the saw dust on the floor as he can before he decides to call it a day. He gets on the elevator and heads down to the first floor, grabbing his phone quickly to shoot Tony a text. “Finished for the night. See you tomorrow,” he sends, and then he steps outside.  

            He’s surprised that someone has already brought around his car. The valet hands him his keys, wishes him well, and then Steve drives towards home.

            When he gets there he intends to take a quick shower, but it turns into thirty minutes when thoughts of touching Tony’s body runs through his head and he can’t ignore how painfully hard he is. He figures, what the hell, and lets his mind wander.

            When he finally heads for the bed, his legs feel weak and his arms are sore from working earlier, but he feels blissful. He sets his alarm for eleven and then closes his eyes, falling asleep to more thoughts of Tony Stark.


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

 

            By noon, Steve was standing in front of Ryan’s penthouse door, hands shoved his pockets, waiting to be let in. When the door finally swings open, Ryan is there with a big, bright smile and welcomes him in like they’re best friends. And maybe they could have been, if they didn’t fuck each other.

            Usually they spend a few hours talking about Ryan’s week, his stressful job, and how things are going in the world. Ryan likes to talk, and he likes to have a football game on in the background while they chat because it gives them something to break up the awkwardness of what they’re doing.

            After they chat for a long time, Ryan will offer Steve a drink, which he’ll accept, and then he’ll lead the way into the bedroom. They take each other’s clothes off, and Steve isn’t even shy about kissing Ryan. He lets the other man think this is a relationship, that they are together, even if it’s just for one day. Then they have sex, sometimes a few times, and then Ryan will go find his wallet and hand Steve his pay without breaking eye contact, chatting about the weather or something else nonsensical.

            Steve likes how easy it is with Ryan. He can just…be himself, or at least, a version of himself, and the sex is enjoyable. It may be a job, but at least it’s not the worst job to have when an attractive, rich man wants to fuck you and likes it when you get off, too.

            Today is pretty much the same. Ryan invites him in, pushes a beer into Steve’s hand, and they talk about Ryan’s secretary at work who keeps screwing everything up. They talk about Ryan’s dad and how he is in the hospital still, but that he’s expected to make a recovery soon. They talk about Ryan getting a dog, even though he’s not home much, but he’s lonely when he is home. They talk about how it’s supposed to rain today. They talk about how that team just scored and they’re definitely going to be in the playoffs.

            “Want another beer?” Ryan asks, and Steve nods.

            He doesn’t drink in his private life, but his clients seem to like it when he drinks with them. He has a high tolerance for alcohol after years of being served drinks upon drinks. A few beers, which taste like dirt to him, won’t affect him in any way. They probably won’t even register on a blood alcohol test if he were given one.

            Steve follows Ryan into the bedroom, watching as the other man takes off his shirt and tosses it aside. Steve slips out of his shoes, leaving his socks on as he goes, and leans into Ryan’s embrace when they reach the edge of the bed. He kisses Ryan’s neck, lets him start to unbutton his jeans, feels it when Ryan sticks his hand down the front of his pants.

            Usually Steve would be into this. He enjoyed his time with Ryan because the man wasn’t completely selfish. They were able to have a normal sex relationship, minus the payment part at the end. But for some reason, right now, Steve is having to tap into his reserves to get the blood flowing to the right area. He’s having to concentrate, having to force himself to get hard. Maybe he over spent himself by masturbating twice in two days, his _off_ days. Maybe he’s got Tony on his mind.

            Ryan drops to his knees and tears Steve’s jeans down below his thighs. He starts stroking him, and then Steve feels hot breath right over his tip. He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks about Tony, how he felt when he touched him. The way his body responded to his caress. He’s suddenly fully hard, and Ryan takes it to mean what he’s doing is good work. But it’s not Ryan. It’s Tony.

            “Fuck me, Steve,” Ryan says, and he slides back onto the bed. He reaches into his drawer and pulls out a condom and lube. “I can’t wait, fuck me. Please,” he begs.     

            Steve moves forward, his brain taking control. He doesn’t see Ryan anymore. He sees Tony there, on all fours, begging to be fucked. Steve leans forward, grasps Ryan’s dick in his hand while he opens the cap of the lube with his other. He pumps his fist a few times and then coats his fingers with the lube. He slowly pushes one into Ryan, adding another, and finally a third. Ryan swoons on the bed, fucking himself backwards onto Steve’s fingers.

            “Fuck me now, Steve,” Ryan begs. “I’m ready.”

            So Steve obliges. He rolls the condom over his length and uses his lube-covered fingers to slick himself up. He shifts so that his painfully hard dick is in line with Ryan’s ass, and then slowly pushes in. He gasps, trying to bring himself back to reality. He knows this isn’t Tony, but from this angle, it could be. Same dark hair, and it doesn’t help that Ryan is chanting Steve’s name, begging him to fuck him harder, deeper.

            He takes hold of Ryan’s hips, increases his pace. Ryan begs him to go faster, so he does. He leans forward again, grabs Ryan’s dick and pumps it in rhythm with his thrusts. It doesn’t take long, maybe a few minutes, for Ryan to come in long, white streaks across his own chest. He clenches around Steve, and it sends him overboard. In his head he keeps saying, “ _Tony Tony Tony_ ” as he rides out his orgasm.

            He and Ryan finally collapse against the bed, their breathing heavy.

            “Man, Steve,” Ryan says after a while. “I think that was the best orgasm I’ve had in a long time.”

            “Yeah?” Steve says back, his mind still elsewhere. He’s pretending he’s with Tony, the smaller man cuddling into his chest. He could fall asleep with a thought like that.

            After he’s caught his breath again, Ryan starts talking about his job again, how he wishes he could just leave and find something else to do. Steve listens, or, half listens. He’s busy thinking about Tony, what it would be like to have him under him, begging to be fucked, begging Steve to come in him.

            “Weather’s supposed to be nice today,” Ryan says eventually, which is the cue for “time for you to get out.”

            Steve gets up and tosses the condom into the trash. He cleans himself up with a towel Ryan provides and then starts putting his clothes back on, eventually looking around for his other shoe. When he’s got it on, Ryan stands by the door and they walk towards the living room together.

            “One hell of a ride,” Ryan says, shoving his hand into his pocket. He comes back with a folded stack of money. Steve tries not to feel sick when he takes it, pretending he’s being handed anything other than money. “Same time next week?” Ryan says, a smile on his face.

            “Absolutely,” Steve grins back, and then suddenly he’s on the other side of the door.

            It takes a few moments for his head to catch up because he’s been so busy with his thoughts, but eventually his feet start moving and he heads down to the parking garage where his car is. He’s got to get home, shower, and then head to Stark Tower. He’d said he’d be there after five, but it’s four now. It might be six before he can get all the way back to Brooklyn, turn around, and come straight back to the city.

            But a chance to see Tony again is worth the trouble.

            Traffic is killer, but eventually Steve makes it home. He stashes the money Ryan gave him in his security box under the bed and then jumps into the shower. He rushes through it and then dresses in fresh clothes, ones that will be comfortable to work in. He shoots Tony a quick, “I’ll be there soon” text and then hops back in the car to head towards Stark Tower.

            His phone dings and he glances down at the message, not surprised to see a response from Tony: “I’m at an event, but I’ll be home around eight.”

            Steve doesn’t message back, since he’s driving, but he’s glad he’ll have a couple hours to get started on delicate carving before Tony comes back. He wants to prove that he can sculpt after all, that Tony isn’t wasting his time or money.

            When he arrives at the tower, the guard doesn’t even stop him, just waves him through the gate. A valet is waiting and takes his keys, and Steve assumes he’s cleared to just go to the ballroom again. When he gets up there, he’s surprised to find that someone must have come behind him last night to vacuum up the rest of the sawdust, because the room is pristine. Just waiting to be dirtied again.

            It takes a few moments, but finally Steve gets into the groove of carving. He starts with the base of the sculpture, which he is eventually going to lacquer a darker color, and carves shoes above his one-foot base. He doesn’t give the shoes much detail, just makes them exist, before moving up to create a pair of slacks for the statue to wear. It’s kind of strange to half a body with pants, but no defined head, but Steve figures it’ll take at least two days to get to the top part of the sculpture.

            Steve makes it up to the crotch of the sculpture, his hand holding in between the legs to steady the leg as he carefully whittles a line out, when the elevator dings open and Tony walks through.

            “Steve,” Tony says, eyeing him.

            Steve nods back, his head in his work and not realizing where his hand is, until Tony steps up behind him.

            “I see you’re giving me an appropriately sized package,” Tony comments.

            Steve’s face goes red and he drops his hand instantly.

            “Sorry,” he laughs. “How was your event?”

            Tony waves his hand. “Spill a couple million for children, nobody bats an eye. But when you donate a few hundred thousand to an LGBT march everybody’s got an opinion.”

            Steve’s brow furrows for a second. He didn’t know of any LGBT marches in the area. It’s not even pride month. He glances back at Tony to see if he was joking, but his face is serious.

            “Well, I’m sure the charity appreciated the donation,” Steve finally says.

            “Yeah, I’m sure they do.”

            “Or was it a tax write off for you?” Steve says absentmindedly, not completely sure he even said it out loud.

            “Believe it or not, Rogers, I support LGBT causes.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.”

            Steve stands up and dusts off his pants. He’s been working on the bottom half of the sculpture for so long that he had crouched down, and then his legs fell asleep, so when he stands he loses his balance. Tony’s hands come up to steady him, but he regains composure pretty quickly.

            “I’m fine,” Steve says quickly. “Sometimes I just forget that the body needs blood flow to its extremities.”

            “You really get into your work, don’t you?” Tony surmises.

            “It’s a habit, I guess. I want everything to be perfect and if my head is somewhere else then it can’t be perfect.”

            Tony grins, as if he knows exactly what Steve is talking about.

            “Well, from what I can see of the pants, it looks great so far. Never doubted you for a second.”

            Steve just rolls his eyes, but he laughs. “I appreciate that. I’ll work up to the head, and lastly carve facial features. Right now I’m just working on getting the body carved out, and then I’ll put in detail after.”

            “Still think it’ll be done in two weeks?”

            “Pretty sure. Unless you just want a sculpture of your legs, in which case I can be done tomorrow.”

            Tony laughs back, and then to Steve’s surprise he grabs a chair and sits on the other side of the sculpture. He gestures for Steve to continue, and suddenly he’s very nervous. He works well under pressure usually, but having Tony watching him is just too much pressure.

            But Steve finally gets over himself and returns to what he was doing, putting his hand back between the legs and steadying it as he carves a long stroke down to form the outer pant leg. Every once in a while he’ll glance up at Tony who seems to be watching him intently, the look on his face undiscernible.

            It takes a couple hours, but eventually he’s finished laying out the bottom half of the sculpture. The lines are refined and it looks good, even though the top half is still mostly a shapeless body.

            Steve yaws, wondering what time it is, when Tony stands up.

            “You eat dinner yet?” Tony asks.

            “Um, no,” he responds, realizing he hasn’t eaten at all today. Two beers at Ryan’s house was his lunch.

            “Take a break and eat some pizza with me. I ordered it half an hour ago. Should be here soon.”

            “Uh, okay,” Steve agrees. He stands up, dusts himself off, and his surprised when Tony comes up behind him and brushes sawdust off his shirt. He walks away nonchalantly, leading the way to the elevator. They ride up to the 51st floor in silence, and then Tony kicks off his shoes beside the rug. Steve follows his lead and removes his shoes, too.

            “Find something on TV,” Tony says, passing him the remote. “I’m going to get a couple drinks.”

            Steve awkwardly handles the remote, flipping through the channels. He doesn’t watch much TV, mostly because he can’t afford it, so he doesn’t even know what’s out there. He eventually lands on the news where a reporter is talking about a generous donation made by the Stark Foundation to fund an LGBT college in upstate New York.

            A few moments later, Tony returns with a couple sodas and passes one to Steve. He wrinkles his nose at the news being played and holds out his hand for the remote.

            “Old news anyway,” Tony shrugs, and he flips through the channels until he lands on Godzilla. “You seen this one?”

            “No,” Steve says. “Don’t watch a lot of TV at home.”

            “Me either,” Tony shrugs.

            Tony’s phone rings and when he answers, he tells the pizza guy to bring it up to the 51st floor. A couple minutes later, the elevator dings and the guy steps out, seeming somewhat inundated by delivering a pizza to Stark Tower.

            “Keep the change,” Tony says, sending the kid on his way. He comes back to the couch and sits down, putting the pizza between them.

            Steve’s stomach growls and Tony grins. “I knew you’d be hungry!” he says, as if it were the lottery and he’s just won.

            “I forget to eat when I’m in the zone,” Steve confesses.

            “Me too. Sometimes I can work for days in the lab and lose all concept of time. I have protocols designed to force me out of the lab after 72 hours with no sleep.”

            “72 hours?” Steve says. “That’s a long time.”

            “I’ve found that I can’t function past three days,” Tony shrugs. “Sometimes I’m just so stuck in my head, you know, _I have to finish this thing_ , that I forget the world exists out there.”

            Steve grins. “I know exactly what you mean.”

            Tony finally opens the pizza box, helping himself to a slice and gesturing for Steve to do the same. They sit in silence for a bit, just chewing, and Steve pretending to watch Godzilla. It probably goes on for a full five minutes before Tony uncrosses his legs and turns slightly towards Steve.

            “So, what does an independent contractor do in his free time?” Tony questions innocently.

            Steve blinks, then he bites his lip. “Well, usually I look for extravagant billionaires to sell sculptures to,” he jokes.

            Tony plays along. “Really? Because in my free time I go looking for starving artists to sculpt things for me. Sounds like we were bound to meet at some point.”

            “Sounds so.”

            “And what does Mrs. Rogers do? Any kids at home?”

            “Mr. Rogers,” Steve corrects, and then he laughs a bit. “And there is no Mr. Rogers currently. No kids either.”

            “Re-heal-ly?” Tony says, tapping his fingers deviously.

            “No Mrs. Stark yet?” Steve says back, trying to lessen the awkwardness.

            “Nah,” Tony says back, waving his hand. “I tried to sleep with my CEO for a while, but that didn’t work. Then I managed to accidentally sleep with our valet and got myself into a law suit, so I’m trying to keep a low profile.”

            Steve can’t decide if Tony is admitting to being bisexual, and single, and if this is somehow a pickup line. His chest tightens, unsure of how to respond next.

            “Look at us,” Tony goes on. “A couple sad saps.”

            “Yeah, look at us,” Steve says back, and he prevents himself from saying anything else by shoving pizza in his mouth.

            They’re quiet again for a while, and eventually Tony turns back to the movie and grabs another slice.

            When the pizza is gone, and Steve’s stomach juts out from being so full, he yawns again and then stands up. “I better get back to work,” he says. “Work in the morning and all.”

            “You could just skip it,” Tony challenges, and for a second Steve honestly thinks about doing just that.

            “Ah, I wish,” he said. “But I keep my meetings.”

            “That’s a good trait,” Tony compliments. He downs the rest of his soda before standing up and following behind Steve. “I’ll probably head down to the lab in a bit, so if you need me I’ll be there.”

            “Alright,” Steve nods. “I’ll probably work until midnight and then head home.”

            Tony nods, and Steve gets in the elevator, trying not to meet Tony’s eyes as the doors slide shut. He lets out a long sigh.

            He isn’t sure what this game Tony is playing is about. He knows it can’t be genuine interest, but maybe something else? Maybe Tony is toying with him on purpose. Maybe the billionaire is just bored and wants to mess with somebody’s head. That seems way more plausible than anything else that runs through his mind.

            By the time he gets back to the sculpture, he’s blocked his mind. He won’t think about Tony until he’s finished for the night. Then he’ll go home, and maybe he’ll just fall asleep. Maybe he won’t. Either way, it’s not healthy to be thinking about the other man so often. It’s going to lead to nothing but lust and heartache.

            It’s about ten now, which gives him two hours to start on the waist section of the sculpture. He’s confident that he can get at least half of it carved out in that time, if he can just keep his head clear.

            He goes right to work, starting by creating a small ridge between the top of the pants and the bottom of the blazer jacket. He details it slightly, leaving the blazer open so that he can later decide what sort of shirt Tony should be wearing. He uses gentle strokes to show the curve of Tony’s spine under the blazer, carefully sculpting out the top of a hand inside a pocket, creating a detail for hidden fingers.

            At some point, his hands start to hurt and he puts down the carving tool he’s been using to stretch his hands a bit. He takes a step back to look at his work, deciding that this is a good stopping point. If he doesn’t stop now, he’s going to start up the chest area and he won’t be able to finish that in a couple hours. There is too much detail that needs to be planned out. An all-day task for tomorrow.

            He dusts himself off, cleaning up the mess as best he can, and then shoots Tony a goodbye message. He’s surprised to see a message in return almost instantly: “Get some sleep. Things to sculpt tomorrow.”

            Steve smiles, and then gets on the elevator. Once again, his car is waiting outside for him and he drives off, looking briefly in the rearview mirror at the tower before it disappears from sight.

            He isn’t sure what the feeling is in his stomach, why it bubbles when he thinks about Tony. He’s not used to feeling like this. He doesn’t know that he’s ever felt like this before. He’s not even sure he likes this feeling. He does know that it’s messing with his head, and he needs to get a hold of himself again. He can’t afford to think about Tony Stark all night. He has work to do.


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

 

            The next few days pass by too fast for Steve. He sees his clients by day, and at night he works on the sculpture. As promised, by the following Monday he is nearly finished. He only has minor detailing to add, then a varnish coat, and paint to finish it all off. All in all, he’s feeling pretty good about the deadline.

            What he doesn’t like is that today is Monday, or Paul Day, as he calls it. He almost hopes that Paul will cancel last minute, that something will come up. But right on time, at 3pm, Paul texts him a location to meet and Steve sighs before he puts his shoes on and leaves the house.

            He stops along the way to gas up so he’ll have enough juice to get back and then to Stark Tower later, but it’s probably just an excuse to delay the inevitable. He’s been having such a good week that he doesn’t want to ruin it with a painful day with Paul. He’s not even sure how his body is going to feel afterwards; will he even be able to finish sculpting tonight?

            Eventually, though, his car pulls up to the dingy motel in the middle of nowhere. Paul prefers places far away, as if somehow the further away the harder it is for his wife to know about his dirty little secret.

            Steve takes a deep breath before getting out of his car and going up the steps to the second floor. He finds the room and knocks on the door. It’s opened immediately as if Paul has been waiting _years_ for this meeting.

            “Finally,” Paul breathes, and he yanks Steve into the room. He wastes no time in pushing Steve backwards onto the bed, pinning him down, his knee coming to land painfully in the middle of Steve’s abdomen.         

            He starts on Steve’s belt, not even hesitating before he reaches down and gives him a rough squeeze through his jeans.

            “You like that, Cap?” Paul says. “You like it when I’m rough with you?”

            Steve tries to get into character. He tries to make it sound plausible when he says, “Oh, yes, Paul. Keep going.”

            Paul undoes his own pants, takes himself into his hand and starts pumping. He stops only when Steve shifts to put his arm behind his head, seeming to not like it.

            “Comfortable?” Paul says, his voice coming out as a sneer. “What should I do to you today, Cap?”

            “Whatever you want,” Steve breathes back. He clenches his eyes shut when Paul’s hand grips him again, this time reaching down and painfully pulling at one of his balls.

            “Of course whatever I want,” Paul says back. “You’re my little slut. You love it when I do this to you, don’t you?”

            “I love it, Paul,” Steve responds, trying to make it sound convincing. It must not matter, because Paul just keeps going. He leans forward and rips Steve’s shirt over his head. He leans forward and bites down hard onto one of Steve’s nipples, hard enough to draw blood. Steve hisses in response, but he’s trained his body not to pull away. He takes the pain, because it doesn’t last long. An hour and it’s over.

            Paul moves again, this time to shift his knee back into Steve’s stomach. It hurts, a lot, but not as much as the hand squeezing him so tightly that he’s losing blood flow to his member.

            Steve tries to put his mind somewhere else, anywhere else. He’s glad that Paul usually comes pretty quick, but the pain doesn’t end until Steve comes, and that’s the hard part. He has to trick his body into believing that he likes this, that he wants this.

            “That’s my good little slut,” Paul says. “You’re so hard for me. You’re going to come so hot and so fast.”

            “Fuck, Paul,” Steve says, and it must urge Paul forward because he grips Steve in a death grip. Paul’s come stripes across Steve’s chest, some making it up to his neck. He tries not to grimace as he thinks about it, but it’s hard not to. Paul doesn’t notice though because he’s focused on getting Steve off. He alternates between squeezing and jerking him hard, so rough that Steve knows the bruises might last longer than usual.

            Steve’s head goes somewhere else. Back to Stark Tower, where Tony let him touch his face, let him run his hands over his beard. Steve had said it would help him find the right lines to carve, and Tony had readily agreed. He stood perfectly still as Steve closed his eyes, felt along Tony’s face, feeling over his eyelids, down to touch his lips. Tony had sighed, and Steve had left shortly after that. He’d gone home and ran a bath, thoughts of Tony pushing him over the edge.

            It only takes a few more minutes before Steve comes. Paul gives him a final squeeze before getting off the bed and going to wash his hands. Steve sits up, trying to ignore the pain in his stomach, in his groin, in his nipple, when Paul comes back.

            “That was great,” Paul says, dropping the payment onto the dresser by the door. “I’ll see you next week, Cap.”

            Steve nods, and when the door clicks shut behind Paul, he takes a deep, shuddering breath. He looks at the clock, glad to see this torture only lasted for forty-five minutes. He came faster than usual.

            It takes a few minutes, but eventually Steve manages to get to his feet and stumbles towards the bathroom. He grips the countertop as he looks at his reflection, trying not to stare at the blood trickling down his chest from his nipple. He can already see purple bruising forming around his stomach where Paul’s knee held his weight. He won’t even bring himself to look down at the fist-shaped bruises on his dick. He can’t. He won’t.

            He manages to get in the shower, trying to just relax his body against the spray. He stays for fifteen minutes before he gets out, drying himself quickly and then going to find his clothes. He slowly maneuvers his legs into his pants, grimaces when he lifts his arms to put his shirt on, and then very slowly ties his shoes.

            He heads out to his car, holding his stomach carefully as if it’s going to explode somehow. It certainly feels like it. He wonders if something might be broken.

            He wants to call Tony, to tell him he can’t come finish the sculpture today. But the timeline is too short. He has to finish carving and put the first coat of varnish on. He has to do it tonight or else it won’t be ready in time for Tony’s party.

            When Steve finally gets into his car, he grimaces and holds back tears. They’re not from pain, or they might be, but more from disappointment. Why does he let Paul do this to him every week? Why doesn’t he put a stop to it?

            The drive to Stark Tower takes about an hour, but when he gets there he’s glad that Tony isn’t home right now. His message from earlier said he’d be back by eight, but Steve really, really wants to be done before Tony sees him. He just wants to go home and sleep this pain off.

            He goes straight into the ballroom and grabs his whittling knife, testing it in his hand a few times before he approaches the sculpture. He doesn’t like the way Tony’s wooden eyes stare at him, his disapproving scowl staring down.

            “I know,” he says to the wood. “Stop looking at me.”

            He gets no response, and none was expected.

            He carves carefully with an expert hand, just forming the last few touches to Tony’s go-T, a few more waves for his hair. It takes about an hour, but he finally finishes and stands back. Even the pain in his stomach can’t take away the pride in his chest. This is his best work yet, he’s sure. A perfect rendition of Tony Stark.

            He puts the knife down and grabs a brush and the container of varnish. He’s about half-way up the legs when his phone dings, but he ignores it so he can work faster. He uses long, precise strokes so that there isn’t any variation in the color. He’s working on Tony’s face, using a dab brush to get into the small crevices, when a particularly rough cramp rolls though his stomach and he drops the brush. It clatters to the floor just as the elevator dings open and Tony walks off.

            “Steve,” Tony says, and then he eyes the sculpture. “It looks great!” Tony says enthusiastically. “You’re almost done.”

            Steve nods, and slowly reaches down to retrieve the brush. He grunts in pain, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

            “You alright?”

            “Yeah,” he says back. “Just…a stomach ache today.” He staggers back to his feet and then raises his eyes to meet Tony’s. He can see the concern etched across Tony’s face, but he can’t do anything but shrug and dip the brush back into the varnish. He wants to finish. He wants this to be over. He wants to go home.

            “You sure?” Tony asks after a few minutes. “You don’t look okay.”

            “I’m sure,” Steve insists.

            When he’s satisfied with the varnish coat, he steps back and stands besides Tony to admire the work.

            “It’ll dry in twenty-four hours,” Steve says, “then I’ll come back and apply the second coat, and then paint it.”

            “I kind of like it without paint,” Tony says. “Stands out against this white tile in here. It’s nice.”

            “Up to you,” Steve says, stepping back and leaning against a table. He tries not to grimace in pain again, but he can’t help it.

            “You’re bleeding,” Tony says suddenly.

            “What?”

            “Your…your shirt. You’re bleeding.”

            Steve looks down and sees red blood seeping through his shirt, right over his nipple. He sighs and brushes it aside as if that will get rid of the blood.

            “I dropped the knife earlier,” he lies.

            “Steve,” Tony says firmly. “What’s going on?”

            “Nothing.”

            “You’re not okay. You’re bleeding. Did you get mugged or something on the way here?”

            “No.”

            Tony takes a step forward. He reaches up and touches the blood on Steve’s shirt, his finger brushing over the nipple by accident. Steve jerks back, not from pain, but from the contact. He doesn’t really know what’s going on, but he knows he probably should go. Right now.

            The last few days were quite confusing for him. Tony had brought him food every day and they’d sat together, talking and laughing. They’d grown closer, they’d spent hours talking. Steve would work on the sculpture and Tony would watch him work. And then Steve had asked if he could trace Tony’s face with his hands, so he could sculpt the head better. Tony had agreed, and things had gotten weird pretty fast. They’d had a few chance brushes of their hands, a few accidental glances. And now here Tony was, _touching his nipple_. What was Steve supposed to think?

            “I-I’m fine, Tony,” he says eventually. “I should probably get going.”

            “Steve,” Tony tries, his voice coming off like a warning. Steve is against the table so he can’t back up any further, but Tony takes another step forward, and then another. His hand is on Steve’s chest, flat against his shirt. His other hand comes up and lands on Steve’s arm just above the elbow. They stand there like that for what could have been hours.

            “Tell me you’re okay and mean it,” Tony says finally. His breath is on Steve’s cheek, so close he could probably just lean up a few inches and kiss him if he wanted to.

            When Steve doesn’t respond, Tony moves his hand again. This time he uses it to cup Steve’s face. Their eyes connect, and Steve’s heart is beating so fast he’s afraid it’s going to beat right out of his chest.

            “Tony,” Steve tries. He’s not trying to get away, but the confusion and uncertainty shows on his face. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what Tony is _trying_ to do.

            Instead of answering him, Tony leans up and closes the gap between their mouths. For a brief second, Tony is kissing Steve and Steve doesn’t respond. His mind is frozen in place. He doesn’t know what is going on, why Tony is doing this.

            But when Tony doesn’t pull away, Steve leans forward and wraps a hand around Tony’s waist. He brings him closer, kisses him deeply, his tongue snaking out to run along Tony’s bottom lip. Tony grants him entrance and suddenly their tongues are pressing together, the kiss hotter than anything Steve has ever experienced.

            Steve can feel Tony’s beard scraping against his skin, he can feel Tony’s warmth. He can feel a slight bulge in Tony’s pants from how they’re pressed together.

            Tony shifts, and some of his weight leans too much against Steve’s stomach, making him gasp in pain and jolt backwards again. And as quickly as the kiss began, it ends. Tony steps back.

            “Are you alright?” Tony demands. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong.”

            “I’m f-fine,” Steve insists, holding up a hand when Tony tries to come near him again. “I’m going to…go,” he says. “I’ll be back on Wednesday to finish the varnish.”

            He goes to the elevator quickly, holding his stomach in his hand again, and then dares to look up as the doors slide closed, watching Tony’s confused face go from shock to hurt.

            When he makes it back outside, the valet runs to get his car and pulls it around a few moments later. Steve gets in and drives away quickly, trying to stop the tears from forming in the corners of his eyes. A mix of pain and confusion, and maybe a little bit of fear runs through him. He wipes his face, not sure why he’s crying. It doesn’t make sense. He’s not sad.

            When he gets home, he pulls himself out of the car and then manages to kick his apartment door shut behind himself. He goes straight to the bathroom and pulls off his shirt, looking at the ugly bruise that has formed on his stomach. He knows he should probably go get it checked out, but he doesn’t want to. He just wants to go lie down and think about Tony, like he does every night.

            He wipes the blood off his chest from the nipple and doesn’t bother putting another shirt on. He goes into his room, drops onto the bed, and closes his eyes. He can’t stand to roll onto his side, so he lays flat on his back and just breathes.

            His head goes back to Stark Tower, about Tony being so close, about the way their tongues melded together, fighting for space. _Tony_ has kissed _him_. Steve had been dreaming about it for a week now, but it was Tony who made the move. It was Tony who cornered by beside the table, Tony who touched him, Tony who kissed him.

            And Steve had run away. No explanation given, no apologies. He just ran away, leaving Tony to wonder if the kiss had been wrong. The hurt on Tony’s face was enough to make a lump grow in Steve’s throat again. Tony had put himself out there, and Steve had shot him down.

            Steve digs in his pocket for his phone and starts typing out a message to Tony, but everything he writes just sounds terrible. He knows he should just call Tony, explain what happened, explain that the kiss was much desired. But he can’t. He doesn’t know where to start.

            He drops his phone onto his stomach and sighs. This day couldn’t get any worse if it tried.

            And then his phone buzzes and his greatest fear comes true. It’s a message from Tony. Simple, quick, it says, “You okay?”

            Steve sends back, “I’m sorry,” with no other explanation.

            “For what?” Tony responds.

            Steve closes his eyes. What is he sorry for? Sorry for kissing Tony, sorry for lusting after the other man? Sorry for making Tony think he was something other than a common whore? Sorry for playing into Tony’s casual flirtation, making him think there was something when it was really just Steve doing his job?

            When he hasn’t responded after several minutes, Tony sends another. “I’m not sorry for kissing you,” it reads, followed by, “But I am sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

            “It didn’t,” Steve says back quickly.

            “Then why did you leave?”

            Steve doesn’t respond again, and then his phone buzzes and it’s a call from Tony. He declines it instantly. He’s not ready to talk.

            “Just talk to me,” Tony begs in another message.

            “I can’t.”

            “What if I come over?”

            “Don’t,” Steve says back quickly, wondering how Tony even knows where he lives.

            “Did I do something to upset you?”

            “No.”

            “Tell me what’s wrong.”

            Instead of responding, Steve puts his arm behind his head and sighs. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to tell Tony that none of this is his fault. He knows he can’t say anything to reassure the man that things will be alright, because they won’t be. Nothing will be alright.

            “I’ll finish the varnish on Wednesday,” Steve finally sends back. “You decide if you want it painted or not.”

            He doesn’t get any more messages from Tony, and he falls asleep a short while later.


	6. Chapter 6

SIX

 

            Steve doesn’t even get out of bed on Tuesday. He’d managed to sleep most of the day, and when night comes around he just plays with his phone. He hasn’t gotten any other messages from Tony, which is a relief and a worry at the same time. He wants to know what Tony is up to, but he restrains himself. He can’t give the man false hope. He needs to just fade into the background and pretend the week they got to know each other never happened.

            On Wednesday morning, Steve manages to get himself up. He limps his way to the bathroom, ignoring his reflection. He takes a cold shower to wake up and then walks around naked for a while until he can stand to put his clothes on. He’s still pretty sore, but his body is already healing. The bruise on his stomach has turned to a dark yellow. He’ll be fine, he decides.

            When Steve makes it out to his car, he sends a quick, “I’m on the way” text to Tony to he knows to expect him before driving off. He doesn’t get a response back, which he’s okay with, but he wishes he knew what was going on. He probably feels now how Tony felt when Steve just left him the other night.

            When he gets to the tower, the guard lets him in and valet meets him in the usual spot. But instead of wishing him a good day, the valet says, “Mr. Stark asked me to inform you that he won’t be home today. He also said ‘no paint’ and said you’d know what that means.”

            Steve nods and then heads inside. He’s not sure if Tony is avoiding him, or if he’s actually got things to do. He’s a busy man, after all. It’s likely that Tony is in a meeting, or hosting another event, or donating a million dollars to another hospital. It’s equally as likely that Tony is avoiding him, though. For good reason, Steve admits.

            When he gets to the ballroom, the varnish and a fresh brush is waiting for him. He inspects the sculpture first, making sure everything has dried as expected, before getting the brush ready. This last step probably won’t take more than an hour, and after that, he’ll be done. Tony doesn’t want it painted, and Steve will have no reason to come back to the tower. They can actually go on with their lives like this past week never happened.

            Steve’s brush strokes are slow and precise. The varnish looks great on the statue and makes it shine. He admires how Tony looks in his wooden form, admires his own work. It may not have been carved from marble, but it looks brilliant anyway. It’ll be a great centerpiece for Tony’s birthday. And when people ask who carved it, Tony will feel a pain in his chest. He might not even tell anyone. He may just say he ordered it out of a catalog.

            Steve sighs, wishing his thoughts would be quiet for once. He needs to get over Tony. He needs to move on. He needs to finish this project so he can go back to his life and be happy with the way things were before.

            As expected, it takes an hour to finish the varnish coat. Steve stands back and takes a final look at the sculpture, taking a moment to snap a photo of it. Somewhat so he can remember his creation, but also because he wants proof that he did this, that he made something beautiful with his own hands.

            And after he’s done admiring it, Steve returns the supplies to the table, does a final sweep, and then heads back to the elevator. He sends Tony a final message, “Sculpture is finished. It needs to dry for 24 hours before being moved. Happy early birthday, Tony,” and then he pockets his phone and tries to ignore the pang in his chest as he drives home.

           

TWO WEEKS LATER

 

            It had been another rough week for Steve. Every week was rough, but lately things with Paul had gotten out of hand. He wasn’t sure he could keep him as a client anymore, especially not since he’d ended up in the hospital on Monday night. He’d managed to crack one of Steve’s ribs in the process of getting off, and it was more painful than anything Steve could imagine. The doctor wrapped his ribcage, but there wasn’t much else he could do besides rest. Which meant he had to cancel with his clients for the week. It was the first time he’d ever broken his availability and even though he knew most of them would be understanding, Paul would not be.

            Steve found himself at the bar he picked up clients at on Wednesday night. He wasn’t drinking, but he was there looking for a friend who might be able to help him let Paul go. He didn’t know how to tell Paul that he couldn’t see him anymore. He didn’t want to get on the guy’s bad side, but at the same time, he didn’t want to continue their agreement.

            Steve’s friend wasn’t at the bar yet, though, so Steve sat at the counter, shoulders hunched, drinking a cranberry juice. He was approached by several men offering to buy him drinks, but he turned each of them away politely. He wasn’t intending to pick up another client, he just needed to figure out a good way to drop Paul, and maybe earn himself a third day off. He could make his finances work with one less client, and it might be good for his mental health anyway.

            Steve had been at the counter for almost two hours when he was approached yet again.

            “Can I buy you a drink?” the voice asked, and Steve’s eyes went wide. He turned just enough to see Tony Stark there, sitting down, taking the seat even though it wasn’t offered.

            “Tony,” Steve breathes.

            “Steve.”

            “What…what are you doing here?”

            Tony shrugs. “What does anybody do at a gay bar on a Wednesday night?”

            Steve takes a sip of his cranberry juice. “Not sure this is a bar you want to be in,” Steve finally says.

            “If you must know, I was lonely and a friend told me to come here for reputable, one-time fun,” Tony says. “So now that I’ve explained myself, what are you doing here?”

            Steve bites his lip. “I’m working, Tony,” he finally says, and he can tell Tony was not expecting that answer.

            But instead on commenting as such, Tony says again, “Can I buy you a drink, Steve?”

            “I don’t drink,” he says.

            “Me, either,” Tony says back. “Well, not anymore. I do bad things when I drink and learn lessons the hard way.”

            Steve smiles a bit. “I guess that’s a good reason to quit.”

            “Why don’t you drink?” Tony asks.

            “Doesn’t do anything for me,” Steve shrugs.

            They’re quiet for a moment before Tony says, “The sculpture was a big hit, by the way. Everyone really loved it. _I_ really loved it.”

            “I’m glad,” Steve responds robotically.

            “I sent you an invite to the party,” Tony says.

            “I got it.”

            “But you didn’t come.”

            “I was busy.”

            “Doing what?”

            Steve shrugs. What had he been doing that night? Probably nothing…sitting at home, staring at the invite, wondering what it meant.

            Tony’s hand suddenly comes up and touches Steve’s. He doesn’t move it even when Steve swallows loudly and their eyes meet.

            “I missed you, Steve. I liked our chats. I got used to having you around.”

            “I…,” he trails off, unable to think of a response.

            “I’d like it if you came by again.”

            “Tony, I…”

            “So how does this work, anyway, Steve?” Tony asks. “A guy just comes in the bar, offers to buy you a drink, and then what?”

            Steve’s breath is coming out too shallow. He is having trouble keeping his head on straight, having trouble hiding the way his body is clearly betraying him.

            Steve stands up, takes Tony by the hand. “Come with me,” he says, and pulls Tony along to a hallway. He finds an empty room and closes the door behind them. The lights are dim, but Steve can still see Tony clearly. His face is neutral, not giving away how he’s feeling.

            “Someone offers to buy me a drink, and if it’s a one-time thing, I bring them back here,” Steve says. “What we do after that is up to you.”

            “So I could have you for a night?” Tony asks.

            Steve nods slowly. “Yes, Tony.”

            Tony steps forward, his hands reaching for Steve. One hand goes to Steve’s hip, the other to his neck. Tony looks at him for a minute, and then he brings their mouths together. Steve is hesitant, but eventually he opens up to the kiss. It’s slow and gentle, chaste.

            “What if I want you for more than a night?” Tony asks after pulling away.

            Steve drops his eyes. “That’s not how this works.”

            “So I can have you tonight, or not at all?”

            Steve doesn’t respond, but Tony’s hands are still on his hips. He pulls him back again, kisses him again, and tries to deepen the kiss. Steve lets him, using his own hands to grip the sides of Tony’s jacket and pulls him closer.

            They stand like that for a long time, and eventually Steve gently moves them backwards to the bed. He sits down, and Tony sits beside him, turning so they can look at each other. Steve brings his hand up to Tony’s chest, lightly rests his hand there, and they lean back together.

            His head is screaming for him to stop, but his body won’t let him. He wants this, and even if it’s one time, even if it’s the last time he ever sees Tony again, he wants to do this. It might be for selfish reasons, but he doesn’t care. He wants this.

            Steve’s hand slides under Tony’s shirt, touching his bare skin lightly. Tony makes a sound into his mouth before pulling away briefly to remove his jacket and then he pulls his shirt up over his head. Steve leans in, sucks a trail down Tony’s neck, stops just above what must be the scar he felt the first time he touched Tony.

            His fingers trail along the scar, watching as Tony closes his eyes when he touches it.

            “Heart surgery,” Tony breathes.

            “You’re okay now?”

            “Ticker’s still ticking,” Tony says, and he leans up, catching Steve’s lips again.

            Tony uses his own hand to push Steve’s shirt up, stopping when his hand hits the wrap underneath. He pulls away and stares down at the wrap.

            “What’s this?” he asks.

            “Cracked rib,” Steve says.

            “Is this why…you left that night?” Tony asks. “You were hurt?”

            Steve sighs. “Sort of. I was hurt, but this happened a few days ago.”

            “Who hurt you?”

            Steve bites his lip, but he doesn’t want to lie anymore. “A client,” he finally says.

            Tony stares at him for a moment, trying hard to understand, but there is no way to understand this. Steve is hurt, but here is he, trying to do this with Tony.

            “We should stop,” Tony says. “You’re hurt.”

            Steve shakes his head. “I don’t want to,” he says. “Unless you want to.”

            Tony takes another moment to look into Steve’s eyes before he brings their lips together again. It’s hesitant at first, asking Steve if he’s sure, if he really wants to do this right now, in this condition. Steve doesn’t pull back, and if anything he deepens the embrace.

            They kiss like that for another few moments. Steve can feel Tony’s bulge growing hotter, and he takes his free hand to loosen the belt on his pants. Tony lifts his hips so his pants can slide down his legs and he kicks them off onto the floor. Steve touches Tony through his boxers, feather light touches at first, before gripping him and pumping a few times.

            “God, Steve,” Tony grunts. “I’m going to come before it’s over if you don’t stop that.”

            “Tell me what you want, Tony,” Steve says back.

            “I want to see you,” he says back, and Steve nods. He slides his jeans off and tosses them onto the floor. Suddenly they’re both sitting there in just their underwear and this thing they’re doing is actually happening.

            Tony reaches forward and lowers Steve’s boxers, letting his leaking erection spring free from the confine. He leans down, using his tongue to lick the slit, and Steve throws his head back from the pleasure. He groans, trying to keep his moans quiet but not being successful.

            Tony takes Steve’s tip into his mouth, licking his way down the length before unexpectedly swallowing him down.

            “Tony, Tony,” Steve grunts. “I-I want…,” he has to pause because Tony started to hum around his length. The vibrations send shockwaves through Steve’s body. “Tony, I want you to…fuck me. Please, god, Tony, fuck me.”

            Tony pulls back, coming up for a kiss. “You sure?” Tony asks. “We don’t have to.”

            “I want you to.”

            “We don’t…have any lube,” Tony states obviously.

            Steve smiles, as if that is the only thing that would stop them. He reaches into a cabinet by the bed and brings out a fresh bottle of lubricant and a condom. He presses them into Tony’s hands and then turns onto his back.

            “Fuck me, Tony,” Steve begs.

            Tony moves down to crouch between Steve’s legs. He coats two fingers with the lube and then presses one into Steve’s tight ring. Both of them grunt at the sensation.

            “You’re so tight, Steve,” Tony moans, and he adds another finger, stretching and scissoring to loosen him a bit.

            “That’s enough,” Steve says breathlessly. “Just fuck me, please Tony. Just fuck me already.”

            Tony pumps himself a few times before lining himself up, pressing in. Steve groans at the feeling, he tries to bite back the long sigh that escapes his throat.

            “Steve,” Tony moans. “God, Steve. I didn’t know…,” he trails off, because he can’t form a coherent thought.

            Tony rocks back and forth a little, testing the waters, before he pulls out and slides back in. They both gasp at the feeling, and when he does it again, Steve throws his head back in extasy.

            Tony reaches up with his hand and cups Steve’s cheek. They stare at each other, the feelings between them being too much to say out loud.

            It doesn’t last long. Steve comes first, his orgasm hitting him hard and Tony thrusting in tune with the waves. His come shoots out in long streaks across his and Tony’s chests, and only a few seconds later Tony is moaning and he comes so hard that for a few minutes after he rides out his orgasm, he doesn’t pull out of Steve.

            Eventually, though, he manages to roll to the side and rests his head against Steve’s strong shoulder. They don’t talk for a while; they just lie there together, chests moving up and down.

            “Steve,” Tony finally says, turning onto his side so he can look at Steve’s face. “I want you to come home with me.”

            “Why?”

            Tony shrugs. “Why not?”

            Steve sighs. “I can’t,” he says.

            Tony’s fingers trail along Steve’s chest, stopping to rest on a particularly interesting part of his rib cage.

            “Is this the fractured one?” he asks, poking it gently.

            Steve grimaces, “Yes.”

            “Does it hurt?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why did someone do this to you?”

            Steve shrugs. “Why not?”

            Tony signs again, turning to lie on his back. “I want…,” he starts, and then trails off. “I want to take care of you, Steve,” Tony begs. “I want you to come and… _be_ with me.”

            “I…can’t,” he says again.

            “Why not?”

            There really isn’t a good reason other than Steve doesn’t think he deserves to be taken care of, and especially not by Tony. People like Steve don’t get happy endings, or even happy opportunities.

            “I just can’t.”

            “Can I…come see you again?” Tony questions.

            “It’s not a good idea.”

            “Why not?”

            Steve sighs and then manages to sit up without grunting. He stands and starts looking for his clothes. “I don’t want to see you anymore,” he says finally, and the hurt that crosses Tony’s face is unmistakable.

            “You don’t?”

            “I _can’t_ see you anymore,” Steve tries again. “You make me feel…safe, and happy, and I can’t…have those things.”

            “But you could be safe and happy with me.”

            Steve sighs, finally finding his pants and sticking his legs into them. Tony just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get it. They are too different, from two completely different worlds. They could never be together. They could never be happy together.

            “I just can’t, Tony,” Steve finally says. “This is my life, and you have your own life.”

            “You wouldn’t have to do this anymore,” Tony insists. “I can take care of you! You could have an art studio and just…make art all day. You could do whatever you wanted to.”

            “Maybe I want to do this!” Steve says back rhetorically. He sounds stupid coming out, so he knows Tony doesn’t believe him, but it still gets his point across.

            “You don’t want to be with me?” Tony asks. “You don’t want to at least _try_?”

            Steve doesn’t respond, because that’s not the case at all. He would love to try, he would love to just let Tony take care of him and keep him safe and never have to do what he does ever again. But it’s not a reality. They might get along for a few weeks, and then Tony would get tired of him. He’s start thinking about all the other people who had fucked Steve, and it would tear them apart. And then Steve would be a broken mess and go groveling back to his clients and have to find a way to survive on his own again. He doesn’t think he can do that.

            “I have to go,” Steve eventually says. He grimaces when he gets his shirt over his head.

            Tony gets up and puts his pants on quickly, then comes to stand in front of Steve, touching his face gently with his hand. He lowers his hand until it’s right over Steve’s hurt rib. “I would never hurt you,” Tony says. “I would never let anyone hurt you again.” Tony leans up, presses their lips together. It’s desperate. He doesn’t want Steve to go.

            “I know,” Steve finally says. “I know you wouldn’t.”

            Steve backs up a pace and he finds his hand on the door handle. His heart is begging him to stay, to kiss Tony, to never let him go. But his mind is telling him to run away, that he can’t recover from the inevitable hurt that will follow if he stays.

            “I have to go,” Steve says, this time it’s definite. He can’t stay. He’s leaving. He may never see Tony again. This is goodbye.

            He opens the door slowly and tries not to meet Tony’s eyes. It only takes about ten seconds to reach the front door of the bar, but when he gets there, the night air is chilly. He walks to his car, ignoring the pain in his chest, and drives towards home. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until a wet tear slides down his cheek.


	7. Chapter 7

SEVEN

 

            A few days go by and Steve uses the time to rest. He doesn’t allow himself to think of Tony, but instead just sits in front of a blank canvas with his hand pressed down but nothing appears no matter how much he tries. He becomes annoyed with himself and paces around the room, trying to find an imagine in his head that isn’t Tony Stark’s face.

            Steve knows that what happened between him and Tony was a one-time thing, and that he’ll probably never see Tony again. He’s accepted it, and he’s moving on from it. Their one night together, though, was enough to make him crave so much more. It was sex between two individuals who wanted to have sex, no money exchanged, and the feeling is so strange and foreign that Steve isn’t sure what to make of it.

            But he isn’t thinking about Tony, that’s for sure.

            At least, he’s trying not to.

            Every thought he has is about Tony, and he has to mentally scold himself. He says, _stop it!_ Whenever the image of Tony pops into his head. He refuses to acknowledge the tent that forms in his pants when his thoughts wander to Tony’s hand around him, Tony’s cock inside him.

            Eventually, his hand starts to move across the canvas. His brain isn’t calling the shots, though, and instead the blood rushing south forces his hand to draw things. He draws Tony, naked, splayed out on the bed, just the way he was. He draws the other man’s cock, draws the muscles up his chest, draws the long scar over Tony’s heart.

            Steve stops drawing mid-way up the arm that Tony had draped across his forehead and forces himself to get up. He walks around for a minute, just trying to ignore how painfully hard he is. He thinks about taking a cold shower, but honestly, Steve doubts it’s going to help. The only way to fix that particular problem is to do something about it.

            But he refuses to think about Tony while he jacks off. He has to let Tony go. He has to get over him. So instead, he thinks about a porno he’d watched a while ago. He thinks about his client Ryan, and he thinks about an actor in a movie he’d seen. And when he comes, he thinks about Tony, how it felt to come with Tony’s hand wrapped around him.

            _Stop it!_ he yells at himself, feeling more ashamed than anything else. Almost zero satisfaction from the orgasm because of how ashamed he feels.

            He goes back to his canvas and turns it around to face the wall. He doesn’t want to look at it, especially not right now.

           

            It’s three days later when Steve decides he can venture outside. He doesn’t really have anywhere to go but he’s tired of being cooped up inside.

            When he’d gone to see his doctor for the fractured rib, they’d said it could take six weeks for it to fully heal, but it’s barely been one and Steve is already feeling better. The bruise is gone, at least, and he can sit down without groaning in pain too much. He’s always been able to heal pretty fast; it’s just a gift he’s been blessed with.

            He doesn’t wander far from home, just for a short walk to the convenience store on the corner. He picks up a six pack of Coke and a couple candy bars. He figures he’s got enough money to blow on some candy, and he deserves it anyway. Chocolate heals all wounds. Steve is pretty sure he heard that somewhere.

            On his way back up to his apartment, he stops at the mailbox and grabs his mail. Most of it’s junk mail, but there is one interesting piece from the art gallery where he’d met Tony a few weeks ago. He bites his lip as he climbs the stairs to his apartment, staring at the white envelope for a while.

            He hadn’t though too much about the gallery since he’d been busy with Tony’s sculpture, and with his regular life. He’d honestly forgotten about the whole thing, about his drawing of the girl in the park.

            He slips his finger under the edge of the envelop and slowly opens it. Maybe it’s a list of people who were interested in his work, or maybe it’s a letter telling him to come pick up his work because it’s the only one that didn’t sell. But instead, he’s met with a check and a letter from the gallery.

 

            “Dear Mr. Rogers,

 

After the gallery fees and subtracting the 90% donation to charity, your portion of the sale came out to $90,823. A check has been enclosed. Thank you for your generous donation for the children’s cancer ward.

 

                                                Sincerely,

                                                Hodge Gallery.”

 

            Steve stares at the letter, reads it a dozen times, turns it over in his hands looking for the “Gotcha!” stamp. The longer he looks at it, the more confused he becomes, and the more he thinks about it, suddenly, the more angry he gets.

            He doesn’t even think. He grips the check tightly in his hand and goes to find his keys. By the time he takes a breath, he’s already outside in his car, foot on the gas pedal, driving towards Stark Tower. He gets there in record time, and the guard calls Tony up to make sure Steve is welcome since he isn’t on the list.

            He’s admitted almost immediately, and a valet comes out to greet him.

            “I’m not staying,” Steve says, leaving his car running.

            He gets in the elevator and jams his thumb into the 51st button, tapping his foot angrily as it ascends. He tries to compose himself. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe what he thinks isn’t what really happened. But there is no other explanation. No other excuse.

            When the doors ding open, Steve strolls into the room and sees Tony standing there with a confused look on his face.

            “Steve, are you—,” Tony begins, but Steve cuts him off.

            “What is this, Tony?” he demands, not realizing that he’s yelling until his words come out. “Did you send me this out of pity? Because you want to take care of me?” he demands.

            “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tony insists, taking a few steps closer to look at what Steve is holding up. “What is that? A check?”

            “A check from the gallery,” Steve says, his voice rising again. “A check for more money than my whole life is worth. What is this, Tony?”

            Tony squints, reads over the letter, and then finally takes a step back and shrugs. “I didn’t know they’d send you something,” he says finally. “I didn’t know you got a commission.”

            “So you spend a million dollars on a drawing that means nothing to you?” Steve yells. “You just waste your money like it’s nothing?”

            “I bought it because I liked it,” Tony says back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The amount was for children or cancer or something. I didn’t know they’d send you a check.”

            Steve isn’t buying it. Less than a week ago, Tony had begged Steve to let him take care of him, and suddenly a check shows up in the mail. It’s too convenient.

            “I don’t want your money,” Steve insists. He presses the check into Tony’s hands. “Keep it. I don’t need it.”

            “You earned this,” Tony insists. “The letter says it belongs to you.”

            “I didn’t earn anything!”

            “You drew the picture, I bought the picture, this is your cut,” Tony says, and he sounds frustrated suddenly.

            “It wasn’t even good work!” Steve groans back. “It wasn’t even worth a hundred dollars, let alone a million!”

            “The amount doesn’t reflect the work,” Tony begins, but then he stops. “Not that it’s not worth a million, because to me, it was. But the amount reflects my donation to charity. And I already told you I didn’t know they gave the artist a cut.”

            Steve crumples the check in his hands. “This is sympathy money,” he insists. “And I don’t need your sympathy.”

            “It is not sympathy money!” Tony yells back, finally frustrated beyond holding his emotions in. “I didn’t know they’d send you a check! How many times can I say it?”

            “I don’t want your money.”

            “Then donate the rest of it to charity! Or rip up the check. Do whatever you want to with it. What do you want me to do?”

            Steve puts his hands on either side of the check for a moment, threatening to tear it in half, but he stops. Tony’s right. He could just donate the remainder to charity. He doesn’t have to keep it, or benefit from it in any way.

            “Fine,” he says. “I’ll donate it.” He turns around, like he’s going to leave, but he sighs. He turns back to Tony, looks at him for a second. “I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I didn’t mean to…upset you.”

            Tony just stares back at him, squints like he’s trying to figure Steve out.

            “You mean,” Tony begins, “that you came here to yell at me, and then you were just going to turn around and leave?”

            Steve hesitates before nodding. “What else should I do?”

            Tony glares at him. “You could have just picked up the phone and called me. You could have just…talked to me like a normal person! Does the thought of me giving you something make you that uncomfortable?” Tony demands. “The thought of you earning something, even if it’s more than you expected, really make you hate me so much?”

            “I don’t hate you,” Steve tries.

            “If you’re going to cut me out, then just cut me out and leave it at that!” Tony says. “Don’t dig into this wound like it’s nothing to you.”

            “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

            “Well guess what?” Tony yells, throwing his hands up. “You did!”

            “I should just go,” Steve says.

            “Yes, you should,” Tony says back.

            Steve takes a step towards the elevator, but within that second Tony has already reached him, spun him around and pressed him forcefully up against the kitchen counter. He’s got his hands tight around Steve’s collar, his expression unreadable. Steve thinks Tony might hit him, but he’s equally surprised when instead, Tony presses their mouths together roughly.

            Steve lets him for a second, but he pulls away abruptly.

            “Tony,” he says. “I can’t do this.”

            “You’ve already said that.”

Tony kisses him again, this time more lightly. He kisses the edge of his lips, down to his neck, his hands traveling down to the edge of Steve’s shirt to pull him in closer.

            “Just stay with me tonight,” Tony begs him. “Just tonight.”

            Steve knows it’s a bad idea. He knows that this is just going to hurt worse than if he just said no, if he just could leave right now. But even as he thinks it, his mouth says, “Just tonight?”

            Tony kisses him again. “Just tonight,” he promises.

            Steve let’s himself meld into Tony’s touch, lets his defenses crumble a little bit further.

            Tony takes him by the hand and leads him further into his house. They make it to the couch where Tony pushes Steve back slightly, letting his legs hit the edge and he falls into a seated position, Tony coming down to straddle him.

            Steve lifts his hands slightly so rest on Tony’s sides, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Their tongues meet in the middle, Tony’s stubble rubbing against Steve’s face. They moan into each other’s embrace, and suddenly Steve doesn’t care if this is a bad idea anymore. He wants to spend this night with Tony. He wants to enjoy his time, because definitely, this will be the _last_ time.

            “Can we...move to your bed?” Steve asks breathlessly.

            Tony nods, stands up, and takes Steve by the hand. He leads him through the house until they reach the bedroom door. Tony kicks it open, pulls Steve in, and then pushes him backwards onto the bed. He climbs on top of Steve again, pressing their bodies together tightly. His hands run up Steve’s sides and then back down, stopping at the hem of Steve’s shirt and he pushes it up. Steve leans up so it can be lifted over his head.

            Tony’s hands reach back down to the wrap around Steve’s ribs. “Can I take this off?” he asks.

            “Yes,” Steve breathes, leaning up again so the wrap can he removed. When it’s gone, Tony reaches up and pinches one of his nipples, then leans down to kiss the middle of his chest. He starts moving down, his hands going to Steve’s belt, unclasps it, and pulls it form the loops.

            “Tell me what you want, Steve,” Tony groans.

            “I want…,” Steve says, “I want you, Tony. God, I want you.”

            Tony shifts a bit so he can pull his own shirt over his head, working his hands on Steve’s jeans while trying to slide out of his own pants at the same time. It doesn’t seem to be working because Tony huffs in frustration.

            “We’ve got time,” Steve smiles, and he starts to help Tony unbutton his jeans, works them down his hips.

            Tony groans again, but he backs off for just a second to yank his pants and boxers off in one swift movement. “Never enough time with you,” he says breathlessly, and then he reattaches them at the mouth, his painfully hard cock pressed between himself and Steve.

            Steve shifts them so that he’s on top, and Tony looks up at him. Steve just smiles again and moves his hands down Tony’s body, stopping to squeeze his thigh lightly before wrapping a light hand around Tony’s cock. Tony moans loudly, jolting his hips forward for more contact. Steve pumps him a few times, using his thumb to wipe away the precum that is leaking from Tony’s tip. He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks, all the while Tony writhing under him.

            “Steve,” Tony moans. “I’ll come if you don’t stop!”

            “Not yet,” Steve says back, circling the base of Tony’s erection to stave off his orgasm. It takes a second, but finally Tony regains a bit of composure. “I want you to fuck me, Tony. Think you can?”

            “Hell yes,” Tony says, and he flips them again. He spits into his hand and uses it as lubricant. Steve spreads his legs wider to give Tony better access, gasping when the first finger presses in. A few moments later, a second finger joins the first, stretching Steve wider.

            “That’s enough,” Steve insists. “I’m ready. Just fuck me, Tony!”

            Tony backs off for a second, jumping up to dig through his night stand until he finds the bottle of lube that has been left lonely in there for so long. He uncaps it and pours a good amount into his hand, slicking himself up and then going to sit between Steve’s legs again.

            “You sure you’re ready?” he asks, barely waiting for Steve to say “ _Yesssss_ ,” before he starts pressing in.

            “Oh, Steve,” Tony groans. He reaches between them and wraps a hand around Steve, pumping slowly in tune with his thrusts. He wants this to last. He wants to make Steve feel so good that he’ll never want to leave.

            Steve squeezes his eyes shut as Tony thrusts into him. When he opens them again, he sees Tony staring down at him, the concentration on his face unable to mask the pure adoration he is feeling. Steve reaches up and cups Tony’s face with his hand, stares into his eyes, and he thinks how wonderful it would be to be loved by this man.

            The thought is enough to tighten his stomach muscles, and he can’t help it when he comes unexpectedly. Tony leans forward to lap up some of the come that ended up on Steve’s chest, thrusting through his own orgasm until both of them are a sticky mess.

            Tony falls forward, his head resting against Steve’s chest. It takes about a minute for his mind to catch up, when he realizes it might be painful for Steve’s fractured rib if he doesn’t move, so he drops to the side, resting his hand on Steve’s chest instead. He thinks that maybe it’ll be enough of a weight to hold Steve in place, to stop him from leaving.

            When Steve starts to move, Tony’s chest squeezes tightly, waiting for Steve to say, “I have to go.” But instead of getting up, Steve drapes his arm around Tony and they lie there like that, pressed together, covered in come and sweat.

            “Stay with me,” Tony begs him.

            Steve stiffens a little, and after a while he says, “Tony,” to try and get his attention.

            “Hmm?”

            Steve doesn’t respond. Instead, he just closes his eyes and lets his exhaustion take over.

            “Goodnight, Steve,” Tony whispers, kissing him on the cheek lightly. He keeps his hand over Steve’s chest, hoping that it’ll be enough and he won’t wake up alone in the morning.

 

            A few hours later, when Steve’s arm has gone to sleep and the pins and needles feeling wakes him up, it takes a few seconds to recognize where he is. Tony is still wrapped around him, their bodies pressed together tightly. Dried come coats his stomach, but he decides there are worse ways to wake up.

            Steve shifts slightly so he can slide out from under Tony without waking him and then goes to the bathroom. He wipes the come off him with a wet cloth and then looks into the mirror for a few moments. He searches his eyes for answers, demands to know why his body betrayed him yet again, but instead, his eyes just stare back. His face doesn’t look angry. It looks…calm.

            He goes back into the room and watches Tony sleep for several minutes. He knows he should find his clothes, put them back on, and leave. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to stay here and wrap himself back up with Tony. He wants them to wake up together.

            After a minute, Steve locates his pants and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He opens his text messages and sits on the end of the bed while he writes messages to each of his clients. Maybe it’s because he’s tired, or maybe it’s because he really wants to try this thing with Tony, but he needs to be free to _try_.

            To his Thursday through Sunday clients, he writes the same message: “I am sorry but I will be unable to meet with you again in the future. I’d be happy to help you find a replacement if necessary.” It seems appropriate, seeing as how most of their relationships were so casual that none of them will even notice he’d gone.

            To Paul, however, he carefully writes and then rereads several times, “Paul, I am very sorry but I will be unable to keep our arrangement. I have had something unexpected come up in my personal life that will make it impossible to continue meeting with you. I would be happy to help you find a replacement if the need arises.” It seems too formal, too easy. He knows Paul is going to be angry. He knows Paul is going to lash out. But what else can he do?

            Steve puts his phone back in his pocket and then he dips back down onto the bed. He stretches out and slowly pulls Tony’s arm back over him. He closes his eyes again, and within a few minutes, he’s sleeping peacefully. Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe waking up with Tony is the first step in the right direction.


	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

 

            It’s morning when Steve wakes up again, and he’s quite aware of where he is. He’s surprised to find that Tony is still wrapped around him, a leg draped over his stomach and his arm wrapped around his shoulders. Steve grins a bit and doesn’t move, even though his bladder protests it.

            He probably lays there like that for another twenty minutes before Tony starts to stir. He watches as Tony grumbles, and then suddenly his eyes shoot open as if he just realized that there is someone else in his bed. Someone else _still_ in his bed.

            “Good morning, beautiful,” Tony says, lazily kissing Steve’s neck.

            “Good morning, Tony,” Steve says back, smiling down at him.

            “I didn’t know if you’d still be here.”

            “Should I go?” he questions.

            “No. Stay.”

            “Okay,” he says. “Except, you’re covered in come and it’s sticky, and I really have to pee.”

            Tony groans playfully, but he stands up and his feet pad over to the bathroom. Steve hears him run a bath, and then a few moments later, Tony comes back and motions for Steve to follow. By the time Steve gets into the bathroom, Tony is already in the water, pointing to the other side.

            He hesitates for just a second, long enough to decide he needs to relieve himself before he gets in the water. When he’s finished, he makes it over to the tub and steps a foot into the bath. The water is hot, but it feels good against his skin. He finally slides into the other side and the water laps at the edges as he settles in.

            “I really wasn’t expecting you to still be here,” Tony murmurs, taking one of Steve’s feet and massaging the sole. “I thought I was going to wake up all alone and then I’d have to come hunt you down.”

            Steve smiles a little. “Hunt me down, huh?’

            Tony just nods. “I decided I’m not going to let you go.”

            The feeling of being trapped momentarily washes over Steve, but he takes a breath and relaxes. If he has to be trapped with someone, why can’t it be Tony?

            “If you’re open to the idea,” Steve begins, “I’d like to _try_ this thing with you.”

            “What thing?” Tony pries.

            “Being…together.”

            Tony grins. “You want to try with me?”

            “Yes. If you still want to.”

            Tony scoots himself over to the other side of the tub and presses himself against Steve, his breath millimeters away from Steve’s mouth. “Of course I want to try this with you,” he says, and he kisses Steve deeply. It lasts several seconds before Tony pulls away and then slides back to his side of the tub. “Anyway,” he continues, “I wasn’t really giving you a choice. I was serious about hunting you down.”

            “Oh really? And how would you do that?”

            “Easy, really. I am a technical genius, by the way. I could probably find you anywhere on this whole planet and not lose a second of sleep.”

            “Have you ever tracked someone down like that before?”

            “Maybe.”

            Steve grins. “Well, hopefully I don’t have to find out.”

            They sit together in the tub for a long time, until the water starts to chill, and then Tony makes the executive decision to get out. He wraps a towel around Steve and pats him dry before grabbing his own towel and wrapping it around his waist.

            Steve watches Tony as moves through the room, picking out a set of clean clothes and then he starts to gather his clothing. He doesn’t realize that Tony is watching him until he pulls his jeans up over his hips and turns around, and then they grin at each other.

            “So, look,” Tony begins, “I know this all started out a little non-traditional, and that’s totally my style. But if you want to, I’d love to take you to dinner. Wine and dine, that sort of thing.”

            “I’d like that,” Steve nods.

            “We can be on the West Coast in five hours if we leave now,” Tony goes on. “There’s this excellent little diner that serves a great brunch. And after we could go to the beach, and—”

            Steve cuts him off with a kiss, cupping Tony’s face in his hands and smiling when Tony just stares back at him.

            “There’s a diner right around the corner,” Steve says. “How about I treat you today?”

            Tony’s eyes tighten suspiciously, but he finally just nods. “Alright. Nothing extravagant. I might have to rethink my dating strategy with you.”

            Steve just smiles again. He starts to respond, but his phone dings and he pulls it out of his pocket, eyebrows furrowing when he sees there are five new text messages, all from the same number.

            “Everything okay?” Tony asks.

            “Um, yes,” Steve nods. “Just give me a second to…deal with this work thing.”

            Tony’s head cocks to the side, because he knows what _work_ Steve does. They hadn’t really talked about it, and Tony didn’t really know how to approach the subject anyway. He just watches as Steve scrolls through his messages, his eyes becoming more and more unreadable as the seconds tick by.

            “Tony,” Steve says after about three minutes has gone by. “I am so sorry but I won’t be able to take you to breakfast. Something important came up.” His tone is terse, and the way his face tenses up when Tony walks over to him begins to worry Tony.

            “Anything I can help with?” Tony asks.

            “No, I’ll be quick. I just need to make a phone call. Hopefully that resolves it.”

            Tony nods and offers to leave the room, closing the door behind himself. Tony doesn’t want to pry, but Steve’s sudden attitude change worries him.

            Inside the room, Steve stares at his phone for several moments, trying not to read the messages too quickly. He doesn’t want to mistakenly freak out if he is just misunderstanding. But the last message he received, from Paul, wasn’t too hard to decipher. It was simply: “I’m going to find you, and I’m going to kill you.”

            Steve gulps as he looks at the messages one more time, wishing he’d stayed awake to get the first response back last night. He knew Paul would be angry, but he didn’t know it would turn into something sinister. The messages started out with, “You can’t just dump me like this!” and had progressed to “Is there someone else, who is it? Tell me who it is!” And when he’d gotten no response, Paul had taken things up a step: “You think you’re something special? I can find anybody to do what you do. You’re nothing but a slut,” and the fourth message, “If I find out who you’re with, I’m going to destroy their life!” which led up to the final, “I’m going to kill you” message.

            Steve stares for a long time before he dials his contact at the bar. He knows it’s early, that there’s probably no one there right now, but he’s relieved when it’s answered on the fourth ring.

            “Rogers, what’s going on?” Phil answers. “Are you okay? You never call me this early.”

            “Hey, Phil,” Steve breathes. “I have a bit of a problem, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

            “Sure, what’s going on?”

            “I messaged that difficult client, you know the one, Paul. I told him I couldn’t keep our arrangement anymore, and he flipped out, and I’ve gotten all these really threatening messages from him. I don’t know what to do about it.”

            “What did he say exactly?”

            “Essentially that he was going to find me and kill me.”

            “Have you responded?”

            “No.”

            “Good. Don’t respond. You need to block his number and forget he ever existed. He’s a lot of talk, but I don’t think he’d actually go as far as hunting you down. He’s a businessman, you know?”

            “You think so?”

            “Same thing happened to Randy when he cut the guy loose, if I remember correctly. Threatens went on for a couple days, but eventually the brute moved on.”

            “So just block him?”

            “Yes.”

            “Alright. Thanks, Phil.”

            “No problem, kid,” Phil pauses, and then says, “I haven’t seen you around here lately. You doing something else?”

            Steve sighs, and then he smiles a bit. “Uh, yeah actually. I’ve started…seeing someone. I dropped all my clients to give this thing a shot.”

            “Good for you kid. I hope it works out.”

            Steve bites his lip. “Yeah, me too.”

            They hang up and Steve takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He tries to get a hold of himself, to wipe the fear from his face. He doesn’t want Tony to worry to much, and he doesn’t want to have to explain himself. Not now. Not yet. He doesn’t know how to explain it, anyway.

            He takes another calming breath before opening the door and going to find Tony. He finds the other man in the kitchen, fiddling with he coffee maker.

            “Everything alright?” Tony asks, not looking up.

            “Yes, it’s okay. But would you mind if I went home for a while?”

            Tony stiffens, but he tries to hide it. “You can do whatever you want to Steve,” Tony says back, not meaning for his words to come out so briskly.

            Steve hesitates, but he knows he has to go. He knows he can’t do this with Tony right now. He’ll have plenty of time later to apologize, but right now, he has to go home. He needs to get a hold of himself and to forget about Paul. He needs to make sure that Paul’s threats are unfounded, because he’d threatened to ruin whoever he was with, and that happens to be Tony Stark. Steve refuses to be the reason Tony suffers.

            “I’ll come see you tomorrow,” Steve promises, stepping up behind Tony and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

            “Okay,” Tony says.

            “Can I call you later?”

            Tony finally smiles, even though it’s half-hearted. “I hope you do.”

            He turns so that he can press himself flat against Steve’s chest, reaching up with his mouth and sucking hard just above his collarbone. It leaves a mark, and Steve thinks it’s probably on purpose. Tony is claiming him, reminding him that they’re going _try this thing_.

            They stand there and kiss for a moment before Steve finally slides his hand away from Tony’s face and backs up a pace.

            “I’ll call you later,” he promises.

            Tony watches him go, and Steve tries to hide the fear the has cropped back up into his chest. He wants to push it aside, he wants to ignore it and pretend it’s not there. But he can’t, because a threat against Tony, or a threat against him, can’t be ignored. He has to make sure things are safe. He has to make sure that _Tony_ will be safe from whatever mess Steve might have caused.

            When Steve gets outside, the valet is somehow waiting with his car, keys in hand.

            “Good morning, Mr. Rogers,” he greets.

            “Uh, hi,” Steve says, and suddenly, “Sorry about last night. I hadn’t planned to stay.”

            “No problem, sir.”

            Steve gets in and drives off, trying to keep a level head. The drive home seems to take hours. He didn’t really want to leave Tony’s place, so the further he gets from it, the worse his mood becomes. It’s almost frightening the way that just being in Tony’s presence made Steve feel…safe and cared for. Now that he left, the feeling is gone.

            He still smiles to himself, though, when he thinks about Tony, and about how they’re going to _try this thing_. Steve is pretty sure it’ll be an utter failure, and in a few days they’ll grow tired of finding new ways to get each other off. But for now, it’s nice to pretend he’s a normal person. No clients, just art and Tony. What else could he ask for?

            When Steve pulls up at home, he heads straight to his apartment. He’s inches from reaching the door handle, to insert the key, to just go inside and _think_ , when he realizes that the door is already slightly ajar. He stares at it for a second, trying to decide if he’s possibly left it open when he’d left angrily yesterday night, but he can’t fathom having done something like that. It’s a bad neighborhood. He knows better.

            He slowly pushes the door open, stepping just one foot inside to take a look around. He’s shocked to see that his house has been trashed. His menial belongings have been torn apart, thrown across the room. Everything he has ever owned has been ripped from the cabinets and is strewn about on the floor.

            He knows he needs to call the police, that he shouldn’t even go inside. The perpetrator could still be in there, after all! But he decides to chance it. He’s pretty strong. He could probably take somebody down in a fist fight if he had to.

            “Hello?” Steve calls into the apartment. “I’m coming in, if you’re still in here!”

            He gets no response, and hears no noises, so he enters slowly. He leaves the door open just in case he needs to make a quick escape and then makes his way around the apartment. He checks closets, he checks under the bed, behind the curtains, but there doesn’t appear to be anyone there anymore.

            In the bathroom, though, his worst fear comes true when he pushes the mirror closed on the medicine cabinet and sees the word “SLUT” written in dark red letters. He suddenly knows who did this, who is responsible for destroying everything he has, and fear runs through him.

            How did Paul even know where he lived? That was Steve’s first question. The second was, why would Paul do this? And the third, what else might Paul do?

            Steve fumbles for his phone, dialing Phil’s number again. He feels numb, unsure of what to do. His mind is blank except for the fear that has replaced all other emotions.

            Phil answers on the fifth ring, sounded exasperated.

            “Steve. What’s up?”

            “You busy?” Steve manages to ask.

            “Nah, just…,” Phil trails off. “What’s up?” he asks again.

            “Well,” Steve says slowly. “I came home and my apartment was trashed. It was Paul. What should I do?”

            “Did you call the police?”

            “No.”

            “Call the police.” Phil’s voice is stern. “Are you sure no one’s there?”

            “I’m sure,” Steve sighs.

            “Call the police. Make a report. Tell them who did it. You want to crash with me tonight?”  

            Steve thinks about it, thinks about how it might be a good idea to not sleep at his own house, alone, waiting for a vengeful Paul to show up, but he declines Phil’s offer. “No, thanks,” he says. “I’ll be alright.”

            “What if he comes back?”

            “Then I’ll call the police again.”

            “Steve,” Phil says. “You stay safe. This guy is a real creep.”

            “Tell me about it.”

            “Look, if you need anything, just call me. I’m always a phone call away.”

            “I know. Thanks, Phil.”

            “Let me know how it goes with the police.”

            Steve agrees, and then they hang up. His fingers hover over the numbers on his screen for a moment before he decides to call Tony instead. He just wants to hear Tony’s voice, to make sure he’s okay.

            Tony answers on the first ring. “Less than an hour apart, record time,” Tony says, his voice grinning.

            “How are you?” Steve asks.

            “I’m fine. Just working in the lab. How about you?”

            “I’m…,” he pauses. He doesn’t want to lie, but this feels like something he can’t tell Tony about. Not now. Not so soon. “I’m okay,” he finally says.

            “You sure? You sound a little down.”

            “Yeah, I’m sure.” Steve sighs and then bites his lip. “What are you doing tonight?” he asks.

            “Probably going to work over in the lab. I’m a little behind on a project.”

            “Oh yeah? Should I let you go?”

            “No,” Tony says quickly. “I like the distraction. Makes the deadline seem more imperative.”

            Steve chuckles, and then he leans back against his couch. “You maybe…want some company tonight?” he asks.

            “I get to see you twice in one day?” Tony plays coyly.

            “Only if you want to.”

            “Absolutely, Steve. Come over whenever you want to. We can make dinner or something.”

            “Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll see you later tonight. I need to clean up at home. Need me to bring anything over?”

            “Just your hot ass,” Tony says, his voice seductive.

            “I’ll try not to leave that at home,” Steve laughs back. “I’ll let you go. Goodbye Tony.”

            “Bye Steve.”

            They hang up, and Steve suddenly feels okay again. The fear that has crept into his chest is pushed down, even if just minutely.

            It takes him another few minutes, but eventually he dials the police and they say they’re going to send somebody out. Steve knows his neighborhood isn’t exactly at the top of their priority list, so he wanders around his house for a bit. He eventually decides to scrub the red SLUT off his mirror because he doesn’t want to have to explain it to the police.

            When the officers arrive an hour later, Steve lets them in cautiously. They take his statement, ask him what time he’d left and what time he came back, where was he last night, is anything missing, all the usual questions. They finally ask him if he knows who might have done this, and for some reason, Steve lies and says no. He feels guilty for lying but he figures it’s a way to protect himself. What if they go and find Paul and demand to know why he did this, and he tells them the truth? Steve does not want to get arrested for prostitution. Not when things are looking up.

            The officers eventually leave, but they promise to send an extra patrol around his building over the next few days to ensure the perpetrator doesn’t come back. Steve isn’t comforted by that, but he just shrugs and thanks them for coming, accepting their report. He sits it down on the counter and starts to clean up the mess Paul had for him.

            It takes hours, and all the trash bags Steve has left in his cabinet, to clean up the apartment. Most of his dishes have been destroyed and anything that looked important was either torn apart or shattered. Steve figures he probably lost everything of value he ever owned, not to mention his artwork that was completely destroyed. He doesn’t throw the art away, though. He stacks it back in the corner and decides that he’ll look at it later when he’s not feeling so nostalgic about it.

            Around eight, he heads back outside and gets in his car. He waits a few moments, taking a breath and trying to get his head back into the groove of things. He doesn’t want Tony to see him upset, so he has to shove that part of him down. When he finally goes start the car, he sighs and runs a hand across his face.

            He feels like he’s running away from his house, where the sanctity of his privacy has been invaded. But he also feels like he’s running towards Tony, because he misses him, and he wants to see him, and Tony is _safe_.

            It’s that thought that gets Steve driving, and eventually he manages to put Paul on the backburner so he can think about Tony.


	9. Chapter 9

NINE

 

            Tony’s house is chilly, and when Steve makes it up to the 51st floor, he’s shivering a bit. He’s not sure why. Maybe he’s just nervous.

            Tony is waiting for him, and when he steps off the elevator he connects their mouths instantly. Steve is a bit surprised, but he just smiles into the kiss. It isn’t very deep, just a “Hello, I missed you,” kiss, but it’s satisfying enough.

            “Hi,” Tony says after a while.

            “Hi,” Steve breathes back.

            “How did your work thing go?”

            Steve stiffens, but forces himself to relax before it becomes noticeable. “It turned out fine,” he said. “Not as big of a deal as I thought.”

            “That’s good news.”

            “How about your project?” Steve asks. “Any progress?”

            “Got busy thinking about other things,” Tony shrugs. “I’ll work on it tomorrow.”

            Steve smiles. “So what are you feeding me?” he asks. “I’m pretty sure I was promised dinner.”

            Tony laughs. “What do you want to make? I have spaghetti noodles. Or we could order in. Or…go out.”

            “In public?”

            “Why not?”

            Steve shrugs shyly. “Maybe because people could see us?”

            Tony waves him off. “Me bringing a hot date to dinner is hardly the most scandalous thing I’ve done,” he says brazenly.

            Steve thinks about it for a moment before finally shaking his head. The thought that Paul might be out there, watching him, makes him uneasy. He knows he’s quite safe here in Stark Tower, and Tony is safe, too. But out there in the open, anything could happen.

            “Let’s order something,” Steve finally suggests. “We could watch a movie on the couch.”

            “ _Just_ watch a movie?” Tony says seductively.

            Smiling, Steve just shrugs again. “I guess we’ll see where things go.”

            They make their way over to the couch where Tony brings out a tablet and they start searching through the restaurants that deliver. They eventually decide on a Mediterranean place that serves kebobs. Tony places the order, and they sit with their feet on the coffee table, their bodies touching, as they look for something to watch on TV.

            Every once in a while Tony’s hand will run up and down Steve’s forearm, playing with his arm hair or intertwining their fingers briefly before seemingly becoming impatient and starting over again. The nervous hand movements makes Steve look down before he just grins, finally understanding what Tony is saying without words. He turns so he can peck Tony on the lips, but it doesn’t end there. He wraps an arm around Tony’s waist and pulls him closer.

            Tony briefly stands up and then sits back down again, straddling Steve as he leans in for a deeper kiss. Steve likes how easy this is, just kissing Tony and not having to worry about how much time they have left on the clock, or what client is next, or if he’ll be paid properly. The feeling is so wonderful that he’s already half-hard, willing things to slow down so he can just savor his time with Tony.

            Steve is about to push Tony up a bit so he can unbutton his pants when Tony’s phone rings. They both curse.

            “Probably the food,” Tony breathes heavily.

            Steve grins and nods, allowing Tony to get off him and answer his phone. “Yes, yes, 51st floor. Thanks,” he says into the receiver, and then he groans when he ends the call. “Worst timing ever,” Tony complains.  

            “Well, I _am_ hungry,” Steve says.

            “I’m hungry for you,” Tony says back, so casually that it almost goes right over Steve’s head. He doesn’t get a chance to respond, though, because the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

            Steve watches Tony pull his wallet out of his pocket and hands the delivery guy a few bills, tells him to keep the change. He puts the food down on the counter and starts moving around in the kitchen, all the while with Steve watching him.

            For some reason, Steve finds it hard to look away. He smiles when he gets caught staring, but still doesn’t avert his eyes. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, he could be happy like this. He could put his other life behind him and start over and just let Tony take care of him, protect him, _care about_ him. It would be so easy to just forget the real world.

 

TWO WEEKS LATER

 

            Somehow, over the last two weeks, Steve had managed to spend every night at Stark Tower. He’d go home in the day time, grab some art supplies, and then end up back at Tony’s place. Tony would work in his lab and Steve had set up an easel in the corner, out of the way, so they could watch each other work.

            He mostly drew Tony doing whatever it was Tony did, but sometimes he would draw other things, like the delivery boy who caught them having sex on the couch when the guard shack had let him up unannounced, or the cleaning lady who wrinkled her nose when she found a condom under the bed while Steve was grabbing his phone off the nightstand.

            Occasionally, he and Tony needed some space from each other and Steve would go find a different floor to work on. There were a lot of them to choose from, and surprisingly, most of them were empty. Steve found it interesting to explore the floors that were furnished; it was as if Tony would occasionally get tired of his penthouse and would go to a lower floor to just try something different.

            Some of the floors were stocked like offices, but no one ever came to work in them. Steve wondered if Stark Tower had once been used for something else, or if maybe Tony was building a call center for some future investment idea. He didn’t ask, though, because Tony didn’t seem to like to talk about his wealth. He would just wave his hand around as if it didn’t matter, like money was nothing more than a thing that was just there, a convenience.

            Sometimes that bothered Steve, though, because he had grown up with almost nothing. There were some days when he didn’t even get to eat because he didn’t have enough food growing up. There were some days when the roof on his old house leaked so bad that he’d have to sit up all night trying to catch the water in buckets so it didn’t destroy what was left of his home. Steve sometimes wonders if Tony ever felt like that, like he had to stay up all night to prevent his house from washing away.

            They don’t talk much about their respective pasts, and for that, Steve is grateful. He thinks that Tony understands that the sex for money part of him is over, that he’s focusing on art now. He thinks that maybe Tony can understand why he ever did it in the first place, but they don’t talk about it so he really can’t be sure.

            They also don’t talk about Tony’s childhood, because from what Steve can tell, it wasn’t all rainbows and ponies. Tony had let slip once that his father was an authoritarian, his way or the highway, and at some point he’d briefly chosen the highway before being drug back home. But that was all he’d ever mentioned of his parents.

            And for Steve, that was okay. The less they knew about each other’s pasts, the less questions that might have to have difficult backstories for answers. He likes that they’re building this new relationship just set in the present. They’re both moving forward from the point they met, and that’s all there is to it. He just hopes that it doesn’t become a problem one day, how little they actually know about each other.

            Steve knows that he’s been staying at Tony’s partly because he’s a little afraid to go home. He thinks that Paul might be watching him, waiting for him to come home alone after dark. But he hasn’t heard a peep since that night, so he also hopes that maybe the man has moved on; maybe he’s decided that Steve isn’t worth his trouble anymore.

            A few times Tony has asked about why Steve doesn’t invite him to his apartment, and Steve just says he likes Tony’s place better. It’s not technically a lie, but he’s also afraid that Paul might see him bring Tony home. Or that Tony might ask why he doesn’t own any dishes. He just isn’t ready to have that conversation yet.

            So for the time being, they’ve just been enjoying each other’s company in Tony’s penthouse, or Tony’s lab, or just anywhere in the entire building that they make it to before sex becomes a part of the game plan. And sex is almost always part of the game plan.

            Most nights they make it back to Tony’s bed, but there was one interesting incident in the back of a limousine, once on the floor in front of the couch, and one more in the elevator. Steve never knew that sex could be so good with someone else. And not just sex for the sake of sex, but sex with emotions, and feelings, and… _care_.

            It was strange at first, because Steve wanted to find out what Tony liked, what drove him crazy. He wanted to find out because it was what he did with all his clients. Found out what they liked and used it to get them off faster. It helped make sure his workdays passed by quickly. But it took a few days for Steve to settle in, to realize that he didn’t want to rush things with Tony. He wanted to take it as slow as possible, learn what got Tony off because he wanted to please Tony. He wanted to make Tony feel good.

            He was surprised to find that Tony had a few kinks, like the time they used the blindfold, or when he only wanted to be partially prepped before Steve thrust into him. Even more surprising was that Tony seemed interested in what Steve liked too. They were experimenting with topping and bottoming and what worked for each of them, and Steve found that he preferred to bottom, especially with Tony. The man was just a very generous lover.

            The two of them just…worked well together. They got along, they could work in each other’s presence, and they both wanted to get each other off in the best way possible. What more was there to want?

            But after two weeks, Steve knew it was time to take a break. Too much of a good thing was a bad thing, sort of deal. He was afraid to go home alone, but he also wanted Tony to have a break from him. Just in case Tony was getting tired of him constantly being there. Just in case Tony needed his space.

            “You don’t have to go,” Tony says while Steve is putting his laundry in a duffle bag.

            “I know,” Steve smiles back. “But I need to get some work done at home. Clean the place, that sort of thing.”

            “I can send a maid service.”

            “Grown men can clean their own apartments, Tony,” Steve laughs.

            “I don’t.”

            “Well, _you’re_ a billionaire. You have that option.”

            “Yeah, I guess I do.”

            “I need to stop by the art show anyway and drop off my piece. Have to be there by eight in the morning, and your place is just too far to make it there in traffic.”

            It was an excuse, but it wasn’t a lie, either. Steve has been invited to another art show, and he had a piece he’d been working on for a while that he wanted to display. He needed the night to finish it. He needed the silence of his own house with no distractions so he could get the thing done and prepared for the show.

            “I don’t get to see it before it goes up?” Tony pries.

            “You’ll just have to come to the show,” Steve grins. “But I think you’ll like it.”

            “I like everything you do.”

            “I know. You spent a million bucks on one of them.”

            “ _For charity_!” he says, rolling his eyes.

            Steve just laughs. He’s glad that he’s in a place that he can laugh about someone paying a million dollars for something he created.

            “Whatever happened to that check, anyway?” Tony asks.

            “What check?”

            “You know. Your cut of the sale price.”

            Steve shrugs. “I lost it.”

            Tony’s eyes widen. “ _You lost it_?!”

            “I guess, that night we got a little distracted, and I haven’t seen it since.”

            “You’re telling me there’s a check for almost a hundred grand just floating around somewhere out there, and you’re nonchalant about it?”

            “Never felt like my money. I was going to donate it.”

            Tony sighs. “It was your money. It _is_ your money.”

            “It’s probably in the trash somewhere. Hopefully some homeless guy finds it and has himself a good laugh too.”

            Tony rolls his eyes. “After 90 days, they’ll void the check for not cashing it and then send another one. So you have about 90 days to figure out what you’re going to do with it.”

            “What’s your favorite charity to donate to?” Steve says stubbornly.

            “Starving Artist’s of New York,” Tony says back.

            Steve just grins and turns his head so he can press a kiss to Tony’s temple. “I’d say most starving artists appreciate it,” he says finally. “Just not this one.”

            “Yeah, yeah.”

            With all Steve’s clothes packed up, he sits his bag by the elevator and turns to say his final goodbyes to Tony. He is surprised when Tony sort of tackles him, pressing him against the wall, and licks his way into Steve’s mouth. Tony presses their bodies flush together, pulling only away when Steve moans into the kiss.

            “See you later,” Tony says, grinning when Steve just looks at him dumbfounded. The elevator dings open, and Steve still just stares after Tony as he walks away, waving goodbye without turning around.

            Steve finally gets onto the elevator, and just as the doors are sliding shut Tony yells, “Call me when you get home!” Steve just grins all the way down to the lobby.

            As usual, his car is waiting for him outside. He gets in and then heads for Brooklyn. He feels a little sad to be going home, especially for an entire night, but he knows it’s the best thing to do. He needs to finish work for the art show, and Tony probably has some sort of lab work he needs to get done, and they both need a day apart.

            The drive home doesn’t take too long, but it’s long enough that the blissful feeling Steve gets while at Tony’s house is gone. The feeling of safety and security is also gone, and as he moves up the stairwell slowly, he is almost afraid to see his apartment again. It’s like this every time he returns home to grab supplies or clothes. He just _knows_ Paul will have broken in again, maybe burned the place down, maybe still be inside waiting.

            But, over the last two weeks, there has been no sign of Paul. It’s been silent. Not even text messages or phone calls from the man. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d be relieved. He would love to think that Paul just moved on, but he just doesn’t know if it’s true. Steve thinks he may live on edge for the rest of his life, expecting Paul to cause havoc at the most inconvenient time possible.

            When Steve makes it to his door, he sighs in relief when he finds it locked, just like he’d left it the last time he was there. He flips on the light switch by the door and then moves cautiously through the house. Just because the door is locked now, doesn’t mean Paul didn’t lock himself inside.

            It only takes about five minutes, but when Steve has checked every closet and under the bed, he’s satisfied that he is home alone. He breathes a little easier, though his body doesn’t completely relax.

            Instead of going straight to work as he’d intended, it takes Steve a while to settle in. His apartment has been his home for years, but after spending so much time at Tony’s, he realizes how nice it is to have nice things. His couch, ratty and old, is uncomfortable compared to Tony’s leather recliner. His bed, worn and sunken, is insulting since he’s slept on Tony’s luxury king mattress. But, while his things might not be nice, he acknowledges that he worked hard to get them, and he’s proud to at least own _something_.

            Steve pulls his phone out and dials Tony. He wants to let him know he got home safely, and that he’s about to put the finishing touches on his piece for the art show. Tony answers on the second ring.

            “Hello, handsome,” Tony grins into the phone.

            “Hey,” Steve smiles back. “You working already?”

            “I finally made myself go down into the lab. Just wandering around right now.”

            Steve laughs. “Me too, honestly. I wanted to call before I got started.”

            “You miss me already?” Tony says cockily.

            “Of course I do.”

            “I miss you too.”

            “Who’s sappy now?”

            “You could always come back,” Tony insists.

            “I have to get some work done,” Steve sighs. “And so do you.”

            “My work will wait for me,” Tony says back.

            “I don’t have that luxury.”

            “Yet. One day I’ll get to tell everyone I’m sleeping with Picasso.”

            Steve laughs again gently. He holds the phone to one ear while he sets up his art table and pulls up a chair so he can work. Tony makes a sound on the other end that sounds like pain, and Steve’s ears tune in.

            “You okay?” he asked, concerned.

            “Yes, I just—,” Tony pauses. “I hit my head on…,” he trails off again.

            “Should I let you go so you can focus on your work?”

            Tony hesitates, but finally just signs. “Yes, I guess we should both get this over with. The sooner you finish, the sooner you’ll be back over here.”

            “And what are we going to do what I come back over?”

            “Oh, I have plans for you.”

            Steve grins. “Alright, Tony. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

            “Okay. Goodnight, if I don’t talk to you before then.”

            “’Night, Tony.”

            They finally hang up, and Steve just grins stupidly for a few moments before he grabs his pencil case and selects a shading pencil. He starts to add the final details, and slowly his mind flutters away from Tony and he is able to focus on what he’s doing.

            It takes the rest of the night, but eventually, when he’s finished, he manages to get himself into his bed for a few hours of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story has been completed finally :-) I will continue to upload chapters. Final chapter count is 16.


	10. Chapter 10

TEN

 

            Steve doesn’t sleep well that night. Every sound in the night makes him think Paul is trying to break in, or that he missed something and Paul never left, that he’d been hiding and waiting for Steve to fall asleep before attacking. His innermost fears come to the surface while he tries to sleep, and when his alarm goes off he just glares at it.

            He gets out of bed nonetheless and goes to put on a pot of coffee, glaring at himself when he realizes he never bought a new coffee pot and his was shattered into a million pieces. He then glares at the coffee jar, as if it’s the coffee’s fault he’s been enjoying Tony’s morning routine just a little too much.

            It’s barely 7:30 when Steve sighs and puts on some clean clothes and shoves his feet into his shoes. He’s going to go drop his work off at the gallery and then he’s going to go buy a coffee pot. And maybe a few groceries, because he didn’t realize that all his food is out of date. As much as he’d liked being at Tony’s place, it was tough coming home to be by himself when he had forgotten to take care of his own basic needs.

            Taking his art to the gallery isn’t too time consuming. It’s as simple as entering the front door and the curator noticing him before she sends a worker over to grab his piece for the show.

            “Steve!” she says enthusiastically. “I was worried you might not make it.”

            He blushes a bit. “Sorry it took longer than expected.”

            “No worries at all. We had a few buyers specifically request a Steve Rogers original, so I’m glad you got it here.”

            “Really?” he questions, not quite believing her.

            “Of course! Everyone was so impressed with your last piece, since it brought such a massive donation for the hospital.”

            Steve bites his lip, because he knows the only reason it brought such a high price was because Tony bought it. He doubts his newest work will bring anything at all. Just something to look at, consider, and move on from.

            “Will you be able to make the show tonight?” she asks him, ignoring his silence on her previous comment.

            “Absolutely,” Steve nods. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

            “Bringing anyone special?” she asks.

            He nods, but slowly. “Yes, I think I’m coming with…,” he pauses. What does he call Tony? His boyfriend? It all seems too new to call it that. But, what else does one call the person they sleep with regularly? “Tony Stark will be accompanying me,” he finally says.

            “That’s great!” she says. “He always has a unique appreciation for local artists.”

            Steve grins back, not sure what she’s insinuating.

            They have more small talk, but eventually Steve’s stomach grumbles and he decides he’d better go eat something before he gets grouchy. The curator wishes him well and waves him off.

            Back in his car, Steve starts to head for a quick breakfast joint, but his phone rings in his pocket and he smiles a bit when he sees that it’s Tony calling.

            “Hey hot stuff,” Tony says when Steve picks up.

            “Hey, Tony,” Steve says back.

            “What are you up to?”

            “Not much. I just dropped off my piece for the show tonight. I was going to get some food.”

            “Yeah? Where were you going? Maybe I’ll join you.”

            “I’m on my end of town now,” Steve says. “I could come to you.”

            “Alright,” Tony agrees. “What are you in the mood for?” Steve feels like this is a loaded question, so he just grins and waits for Tony to suggest something. He’s not even surprised when Tony adds, “Because I’m in the mood for _you_.”

            “Aren’t I always on the menu?” Steve laughs back.

            “Whenever you’re here,” Tony responds, and Steve rolls his eyes, knowing it’s a jab at not having slept over last night.

            “I can be there in thirty,” Steve says. “I’m hungry for real food. Then we can talk about what you’re having.”

            He can hear Tony grin again when they hang up, and Steve just smiles as he drives towards Stark Tower. Things have been different for him over the last few weeks. Sure, he’s spent a significant time worrying about Paul and whether or not the man is gone for good or if he’s just waiting for the best time to strike, but he’s also spent a lot of time with Tony. He feels so…normal. So…domestic. He likes it.

            The ride to Tony’s place doesn’t take as long as expected. Traffic cooperates, and within twenty minutes Steve is standing at the elevator doors, waiting for it to open and carry him to Tony’s penthouse. He bounces a little on his feet while he waits, not realizing that he’s excited to see Tony until he actually sees the man and feels a gallop in his stomach.

            “Hey,” he greets, and Tony doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he pulls Steve in for a deep kiss that leaves them both breathless.

            “Missed you,” he finally says.

            “It was less than twelve hours,” Steve laughs.

            “Twelve hours too many.”

            “You get any work done?”

            “Yeah, a bit. Enough to keep them off my back for a while.”

            Steve doesn’t really know, or understand, what Tony is working on. Something technological and smart and needs big words to describe. He’s always so impressed when Tony goes off on a tangent about how his _whatchamacallit_ does this, and the _thingamajig_ does this. It shows just how intelligent Tony really is, and it is almost intimidating.

            When he’d said as much, though, Tony just laughed and insisted that it was him who was intimidated by Steve. Young, handsome, basically carved by the gods, and talented in ways Tony could never imagine. Tony was smart, yes, but he drew stick figures unless he had a program help him design something. Steve was a talented artist. Tony insisted that was far more impressive than just knowing things.

            “I made sandwiches,” Tony says after a while. “Figured you could eat some lunch. Probably didn’t eat dinner yesterday.”

            Steve shrugs, but he accepts the seat at the counter when Tony gestures for him to sit and then his mouth waters when a large sandwich is put in front of him. Tony sits across the bar, his own sandwich in his hands, waiting for Steve to take a bite.

            “This looks amazing,” Steve compliments. “Sure you didn’t have it delivered?”

            “I _can_ cook, you know,” Tony says back. “I just choose not to. And making a sandwich isn’t cooking anyway. It’s more like…assembling. And I’m really good at assembling things.”

            “Yes, this is certainly a very nice assembly,” Steve agrees. He takes a bite, and then another. “Pretty amazing assembly, actually.”

            They have small talk while finishing their lunch, and then Steve helps Tony clear the dishes. It only takes a few moments, but the domesticity of it all makes Steve shiver. He didn’t know that doing something so normal could feel so good, or that he’d secretly always wanted to wash dishes with his boyfriend.

            Steve’s brain pauses for a second, because for the second time that day he’s struggling to decide what he and Tony are. _Boyfriend_. The word just seems strange, foreign. Steve has never experienced a regular relationship that looked anything like what he and Tony are doing, and the ones he did have couldn’t have been classified as _boyfriends_ , anyway.

            Taking a breath, Steve turns to Tony and looks at him for several seconds. Tony is rambling on about a prototype in his lab that didn’t work quite as expected, about how he’ll have to tweak the programming when they get back from the art show later, about—

            “Why are you looking at me like that?” Tony questions. “Something on my face?”

            “No,” Steve grins back, his cheeks heating slightly at having gotten caught staring.

            Tony looks back at him suspiciously before drying his hands on a clean towel and cupping Steve’s cheek. “You doing okay?” he asks cautiously, as if Steve is suddenly behaving very strangely.

            “Yes,” Steve nods. “I was just thinking about something.”

            “What?”

            “Well…,” he pauses, unsure of how to ask the question, unsure of what answer he even wants. “I was talking to the curator today and she asked me who I was bringing, and I just said I was bringing you, because I didn’t know what to call you. And just now I was thinking about how nice it was to do the dishes with my boyfriend, but I don’t know if I can call you that…because I don’t really know what we are, or if we’re just fuckbuddies, or what this is. I guess we never talked about it.”

            When Steve is done talking, he exhales and tries not to look Tony in the eye. He’s embarrassed, winded for talking so much, and nervous for Tony’s response. After several moments of silence, Steve manages to look up and sees a look of bewilderment on Tony’s face.

            “You really put a lot of thought into it, haven’t you?” Tony asks.

            “Not…really…,” Steve insists.

            “Your face gets all cute when you think too much.”

            Steve lets Tony pull him into a light kiss. It doesn’t deepen, but they stand there like that for another few moments until Tony lets him go and turns back to drying the dishes.

            “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” Tony asks.

            “I’m open to suggestions,” Steve says carefully.

            “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it, either,” Tony admits. “But I’m pretty sure we’re beyond the fuckbuddy stage.”

            “We’re too old to have boyfriends,” Steve sighs.

            “ _We_?” Tony laughs.

            “You know what I mean.”

            “Boyfriend does sound so trivial,” Tony nods. “What about manfriends?” Steve rolls his eyes. “But for the sake of society, and if you want to be, then, I’d say we could call ourselves boyfriends.”

            “Yeah?” Steve says, feeling the heat creep into his cheeks again.

            “Why not? The media’s going to figure out that having dinner with the same hot guy repeatedly probably means exactly what they want it to mean.”

            Steve gulps a little, fear moving into his chest. He’s not afraid of being seen with Tony in public, but he’s afraid of the paparazzi seeing them and making a big deal out of it, and then news will get around to Paul and it could affect Tony in a negative way.

            “Tony,” Steve says suddenly. “I need to tell you something.”

            “Okay.”

            Steve opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to find the words but not quite about to. He needs to tell Tony about Paul, about the threat that might be looming outside right now. He needs Tony to know that he could be in potential danger, that being his boyfriend might be more trouble than it’s worth.

            “What is it?” Tony asks, sensing that whatever Steve has to say is important. He turns off the sink water and turns back to Steve, waiting for an answer.

            Steve bites his lip. “I, um…,” he begins, and then he sighs. There is no other way to get it out than to just say it. “Before I met you, I had a client,” he says, searching Tony’s face for repulsion at the mention of his former life, just a few weeks ago. When he sees none, he goes on. “He was really brutal. Gave me a cracked rib at some point. I ended our arrangement, and he was very upset about it.”

            “I remember that,” Tony nods. “The night we kissed. You were almost finished with the sculpture. You were hurt but wouldn’t tell me.”

            Steve nods. “His name is Paul, and he broke into my apartment and tore it to shreds. Broke everything I had, really just made a bad situation worse to be honest. He threatened to ruin the person I’d replaced him with, if he found out.”

            “That person being me,” Tony surmises.

            Steve nods, ashamed.

            Instead of yelling at him, or kicking him out, or admonishing him in anyway as Steve was expecting, Tony just wraps him into a tight hug. The embrace seems to last forever. So long that Steve is the one to pull away.

            “I’m sorry,” he says instantly. “I didn’t mean to be a cause of worry for you.”

            Tony shakes his head. “I’m worried _about_ you, not because of you,” Tony says back. “I told you I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. I meant that! I wish you’d have came to me with this sooner. We could have gotten it taken care of right away. Is that why you’ve been so distant? You’re worried about this guy coming back?”

            Steve swallows and just nods, unsure of what to say. He had been expecting for Tony to get angry, throw something, hit him even. But complete understanding and acceptance…he wasn’t prepared for that. He didn’t know how to handle the emotions that came with it.

            “Has he threatened you since breaking into your apartment?” Tony asks. “Have you seen him around anywhere?”

            “No,” Steve shrugs. “He might have moved on from it already.”

            “Maybe. But you can’t be too safe, Steve. This guy wants to hurt you. Hell, he _already_ hurt you!”

            “What should I do?”

            “Did you call the police?”

            “I made a report about the break in,” he says. “But I didn’t tell them it was Paul.”

            Tony sighs and then pulls Steve back into another hug. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m going to take care of this. I’m going to make sure he never hurts anyone ever again.”

            Steve blinks a few times. “What are you going to do about it?”

            “I have an entire team of lawyers at my disposal, just waiting for this kind of thing. They would love to get their hands on scum like that.”

            “I…don’t want to cause him any trouble,” Steve says quietly.

            Tony eyes him. “This man has hurt you physically and you don’t want to cause _him_ trouble?”

            “I just want it to be over with, so I can move on.”

            Tony rubs his temple. Steve can tell that he does not like it one bit, that doing nothing might be the one thing Tony Stark cannot do.

            “I want to help you,” Tony finally says. “But if you think doing nothing is the best option, then we’ll try it your way.”

            Steve sighs in relief. He’s not quite sure why he was so afraid of having Tony involved, but now that it’s out in the open he feels like one of the weights on his chest has lifted.

            “Thank you,” Steve says eventually, and he manages to let go of Tony and turn back to the last dish he was rinsing. When he’s done, he dries his hand on the towel Tony offers him and then they head into the living room together.

            It’s only three now, so they’ve got two hours before they need to leave for the art show. By the time they sit down on the couch, Tony’s intention is very clear for at least one of those two hours. He instantly tackles Steve, gets him on his back, kisses him hungrily.

            “Missed you last night,” Tony breathes.

            “I can tell,” Steve laughs back.

            Tony moves his hands up and down Steve’s body while they kiss, eventually reaching under his shirt. Steve breaks away from the kiss so he can pull his shirt over his head, groaning a bit when Tony moves down so he can lick one of his nipples.

            Tony shuffles out of his own clothes, suddenly naked and rubbing himself on Steve’s jean-clad thigh. Tony’s hands move to Steve’s pants, undoing the button and pulling them down Steve’s hips until he’s sitting there in just his boxers, the outline of his erection evident behind the fabric.

            “Tell me what you want,” Tony says. “I want you to fuck me. You want to?”

            Steve grins a little. “Sure, Tony.”

            Tony’s cheeks are a little flushed, but he moves until he’s able to slide underneath Steve. He sits back and watches as Steve starts down his chest, kissing lightly over small trail of hair that leads from his belly button. Tony gasps when Steve finally makes it to his cock, cursing when he feels Steve’s hot breath against it, and clenches his fists when his tip finally makes it past Steve’s lips.

            “God your mouth feels so good,” Tony gasps, his hands coming to rest in Steve’s hair. He gently guides him where he wants to go. Steve just cooperates. He licks Tony’s slit and lets his tongue run over the underside of Tony’s cock. He takes him deep, swallows around him, all the while taking glances up to see Tony’s reactions.

            “S-stop,” Tony breathes out. “I’m going to come if you don’t stop…”

            Steve pulls off and uses his thumb and forefinger to stave off Tony’s orgasm. When the risk has passed, Steve starts riffling through the drawer next to the couch for the lube and a condom he knows is there.

            “Ready?” he asks, when Tony groans as he slicks up his own fingers.

            “Just get inside me already!” Tony says insistently.

            Steve grins, and he teases Tony for a moment before gently pushing his first finger past Tony’s clenched ring. Tony gasps again, but he rocks back and forth, trying to get more contact and to get Steve deeper.

            “It’s not my first rodeo, cowboy,” Tony says impatiently. “Hurry up.”

            “Want to take my time with you,” Steve says back. “I love you like this.”

            Tony glares, but it’s just a playful one. He clenches again when Steve adds a second finger but manages to relax in record time, rocking again until Steve sighs and pulls his fingers out. He wipes his hand on a shirt from the floor and then goes for the condom.

            “We don’t have to use one, you know,” Tony says.

            Steve hesitates, wondering how Tony would feel without the extra barrier between them, but he finally pushes that thought aside. He might have given up his former life for this chance with Tony, but it wasn’t long enough ago to have gotten the results of an STD panel back. He’s never contracted anything, but it’s not worth the risk to him.

            “Maybe next time,” Steve says carefully, not wanting to ruin the mood.

            “Alright,” Tony agrees, and then he brings their mouths together for a deep kiss.

            Steve rolls the condom on and lines himself up, waiting for Tony to push down a little bit which will be all the permission he needs. He doesn’t have to wait long, because Tony is impatient and he wraps his legs around Steve’s hips and pulls him in quickly.

            They both gasp at the feeling, Steve trying to still himself to allow Tony time to adjust and Tony just pulling Steve deeper and deeper.

            “You’re fantastic,” Tony groans, holding Steve in place finally. “It’s been a while since…,” he trails off, his train of thought being interrupted when Steve brushes against his prostate. “God you’re so perfect,” he goes on.

            Steve’s cheeks burn a little red, and he leans down on his elbows to kiss Tony tenderly. It lasts for half a second before Tony moves his hips and nudges Steve.

            “You going to fuck me or what?” Tony demands, his smile evil.

            Steve just grins back, and he takes his time as he pulls out completely, then pushes back in slowly. He moans at the sensation, but he tries to keep his movements even. He doesn’t want to hurt Tony, and it has been a while since he’s topped.

            Steve pushes up a bit so he can rest his weight on one hand and reach between them to grasp Tony in his hand. He begins pumping him in tune with his thrusts, easy and slow.

            “Tony you feel so…,” Steve starts, but he’s not sure how to finish that thought. It feels amazing to be inside Tony, and his chest swells with desire and his impending orgasm, but there’s something else. Being with Tony, like this, just feels…

            “I’m going to come,” Tony says, breaking Steve’s train of thought. Tony’s body tenses up, his eyes shut tight, and he comes in long, hot spurts over Steve’s hand and onto his own chest. It only takes a few more pumps from Steve before he’s coming too, shuddering at the feeling, and grunting as he rides out his orgasm.

            He collapses on top of Tony, still inside him even as he softens. They breath heavily against each other for several moments. Finally, when Steve is strong enough, he sits back and pulls out. Tony whines at the loss of contact, but Steve only moves briefly to discard the condom and grab his shirt from the floor, wiping them both clean before pressing their bodies together again.

            Steve runs his fingers up Tony’s spine absentmindedly, trying to keep his thoughts clear but not really able to do so. His eyes move down to Tony’s cheek that is pressed against his bare chest, their legs intertwined. He can’t help but to smile. It feels good being here, just like this. It feels easy.

            Eventually Tony looks up and catches Steve staring at him. He smiles back and shifts up just slightly so he can press their lips together.

            “You’re beautiful, you know that?” Tony says quietly.

            Steve’s eyes go wide. He’s pretty sure no one ever has called him _beautiful_. It’s such a feminine word that he is immediately confused by it. He can’t decide if Tony is chiding him, or if he’s being serious. It takes several seconds of searching Tony’s face before Steve decides that he was serious, and that his word choice was intentional.

            “Um, thank you?” Steve finally says.

            “Don’t think too much,” Tony says back, pressing his cheek against Steve’s chest again.

            Steve sighs, and for once, he forces his mind to go blank. He doesn’t want to overthink things. He just wants to stay right here, pressed against Tony, forever.


	11. Chapter 11

ELEVEN

 

            When Steve’s arm falls asleep, be begrudgingly slides himself out from under Tony and heads for the bathroom. They must have fallen asleep, because suddenly their two hours until the show has turned into about twenty minutes, but Steve doesn’t rush. He doesn’t even wake Tony up at first. He just comes back and watches the man sleep for several minutes, loving the way his chest rises and falls in such an even succession.

            Maybe it’s intuition, but Tony’s eyes flutter open and he looks around the room, confused for a moment.

            “What time is it?” he groans.

            “Almost five,” Steve answers.

            “We’ll be late,” Tony says, sitting up quickly.

            “Fashionably late,” Steve agrees, and then he pulls Tony in for a kiss. It’s deep and long, and sends sparks into his belly. It’s Tony who finally pushes him away.

            “As much as I would love to get this train started again,” Tony warns, “we do have a show to get to.”

            Steve grins. “I know, I know.”

            Tony gets up again, moving towards the bathroom to take a quick shower. He beckons for Steve to follow him, and Steve does. Taking a shower together will certainly speed things up.

            Except, it doesn’t really because they mostly just lean against each other under the spray, kissing languidly.

            When they’re finally dressed and ready, it’s nearing six.

            They take one of Tony’s dozen or so cars he keeps parked in the tower garage and head towards the gallery in a peaceful silence. At some point, Tony reaches over and clasps Steve’s hand in his own, holding it the rest of the way there.

            Steve can’t keep the gentle smile off his face as he looks at Tony. He doesn’t know why he feels so content right now. He just does. And he likes the feeling.

            “A picture would last longer,” Tony murmurs after a while.

            “Don’t need a picture when I have the real thing,” he shrugs back.

            Tony is quiet again for a few seconds, and then he says, “We don’t actually have any pictures together. I googled it. Not one.”

            “Do you want one?”

            “You’re going to be old one day, Steve,” Tony insists. “I want to remember you as hot as you are now.”

            Steve rolls his eyes. “Then let’s take pictures,” he says. “We can take some at the gallery tonight.”

            “I imagine the press will do plenty of that for us,” Tony says back. Steve nods, but then his face sets into a scowl that Tony doesn’t like. “What? You didn’t know the paparazzi would show up to an event that I was attending?”

            Steve sighs. “I guess…,” he trails off. “I guess I’m just worried what will happen when those photos get posted online. Everyone will know that we’re spending a lot of time together.”

            “So?”

            “You’re not worried about your reputation?”

            “Are you?”

            Steve sighs again. He doesn’t think Tony is taking this very seriously. The obvious threat to him has been like an elephant weighing on Steve’s chest. That’s why he’s always been so hesitant to let Tony take him out in public. He doesn’t want his identity to somehow cloud the view or perception of Tony Stark.

            And then there’s the other real threat. When Paul sees photos of them together, he’ll figure out why Steve broke their arrangement. He’ll come after Tony. He’ll do horrible things just to make Steve suffer.

            Steve suddenly feels sick.

            “Hey, what wrong?” Tony asks, taking his free hand back and reaching up to stroke Steve’s cheek.

            “This might have been a bad idea,” Steve breathes.

            “The gallery?”

            “I just…don’t know how people will react to us,” Steve says carefully.

            Tony nods, understanding that Steve doesn’t mean _people_ at all. He means person; one person in particular. “It’ll be alright, Steve,” he says gently. “I have an army of guards just waiting for my beckoning call. I’m not going to let anybody hurt you.”

            “I’m not worried about _me_.”

            “And I’m not worried about _me_ ,” Tony insists.

            Steve looks away, trying to push away the feeling of dread that has spread over him. He wishes Tony could just understand how bad things had been with Paul. He wishes he could understand why he himself let things go on for so long. He didn’t like pain. Was it really for money that he let Paul hurt him so badly?

            They’re pulling up to the gallery, waiting in a valet line for someone to come take the keys so they can go inside. Tony takes Steve’s hand again, rubs soothing circles on the back of it.

            “It’s going to be okay,” Tony says. “This isn’t even my first scandal, Steve. Don’t you watch the news?”

            Steve can’t help but to smile. Tony is certainly known for his antics, and the media eats him up and broadcasts his every public move. They must have wondered lately where he was, and why he was hiding.

            Steve finally squeezes Tony’s hand back, accepting the reassurance even though he doesn’t feel it.

            They finally step out of the car, a crowd of cameras suddenly snapping their pictures and the annoying “click, click, click” fills Steve’s ears. He pushes down his worry and waits for Tony to come join him on the other side of the car before they head into the gallery. He can already see the speculation in the crowd, but again he pushes his doubt and fears aside as Tony greets people.

            It probably wouldn’t be this busy if Tony Stark weren’t on the guest list. There probably would only be one reporter, maybe two, talking about the newest up and coming artists, and the guy whose art once sold for a million dollars at a charity auction. But, with Tony there, there were hundreds of people moving in and out of the gallery, just trying to get a look at him and the eyecandy he was carrying around for the day.

            Steve stands back a bit as the crowd swamps Tony, asking him questions and asking him what art he’s there to see. Steve is a bit relieved when Tony doesn’t mention their relationship, or that he’s there to support his boyfriend, or any number of things that might pertain to Steve at all. Instead, Tony just says he’s there to support local artists.

            Eventually, they’re able to move through the gallery with just a few people tailing them, and after a few more moments a set of guards pushes the stragglers aside so that Steve and Tony can walk together.

            They stop to linger at a few interesting pieces of art, just so Tony can comment on them and have people write down his every word. For the most part they keep a reasonable distance between themselves so that the speculation just dies at the speculation. Steve doesn’t know if Tony’s doing it for his own sake, or because he wants Steve to feel comfortable, but he’s glad. He’s not embarrassed of Tony, but he thinks that maybe, possible, Tony should be embarrassed to be seen with him.

            “Which one is yours?” Tony finally says, a little impatiently.

            Steve shrugs a bit. “I didn’t put it up, so I’m not sure where it is.”

            “You mean we have to walk through this whole place and look for?”

            “That’s the idea of an art gallery.”

            “I’m running out of witty things to say about these other pieces.”

            “You don’t have to comment on all of them.”

            “How would you feel if the only one I didn’t comment on was yours?”

            Steve smiles and shakes his head.

            They continue through the gallery until finally coming to Steve’s work, and it might have been an exciting event for Tony to finally see the finished piece if there weren’t somebody else standing in front of it, wearing an expensive suit, hair slicked back, foot tapping impatiently.

            Steve stops dead in his tracks and Tony doesn’t seem to notice, because he continues approaching the art with Steve’s name on it. Steve steps backwards a step, planning to turn and run as fast as he can. By the time he’s gotten a second step backwards, Tony has realized he’s not by his side anymore and turns to look.

            “You alright?” he questions, but Steve averts his eyes and is suddenly frozen in place. Paul is looking right at him too, and his sneer is unmistakable.

            “I need to go,” Steve whispers, barely audible.

            Tony follows his gaze, but he doesn’t instantly see the threat. He just sees a guy in a suit, who happens to be staring daggers back at Steve.

            “You know that guy?” he asks.

            Steve nods slowly and takes another step back. His eyes go wide when Paul moves towards him and his instinct to run is only interrupted by Tony grasping his arm carefully.

            “Steve, is that…the guy?” Tony demands, his face suddenly unreadable. He turns so that when Paul arrives, he can be the strong one because Steve definitely is having trouble just breathing.

            The three of them stand there together for what feels like hours, but in reality is probably mere seconds, before Paul says, “Steve. Good to see you.”

            Tony looks around the room, making sure they aren’t being watched, before he takes a purposeful step forward.

            “You need to step back,” Tony says. “This is a public place.”

            “Just greeting an old friend,” Paul says, and then he sticks his hand out to Tony. “Paul Swanson. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about me.”

            “Enough to know you shouldn’t be here,” Tony says, ignoring the handshake.

            “I came for the art,” Paul says. “I read in the paper that Steve was going to be featured, so I wanted to come by. He hasn’t been home in a while, you see. I was starting to worry.”

            Steve is still white faced, unable to do much besides look between Tony and Paul and wish he had not come out tonight.

            The guards must have noticed something was amiss, because seconds later they have stepped up behind Tony and Steve and are looking at Paul, trying to decipher the situation.

            “Anyway,” Paul says. “It was nice to see you Steve. We should catch up again soon. I’ll see you around.”

            Paul turns and walks out of the crowd that has suddenly formed around Tony and Steve, and Steve feels like the world might actually explode right now. He can’t breathe, he’s having trouble keeping himself standing up. He thinks he might be having a panic attack.

            Tony manages to usher him into a private bathroom, which curious eyes follow them to, and he tells the guards to keep people away until they emerge again. Tony isn’t even a bit concerned about being in the bathroom with Steve right now. He doesn’t care what the press will say. He cares that Steve doesn’t seem to be breathing, and his face is starting to turn a strange color of red.

            When the door is locked behind them, Tony turns Steve around and grips his face. He tries just talking to him, tries to bring him out of his panic, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Even a carefully placed kiss doesn’t help Steve breathe again.

            “He’s gone now, Steve,” Tony says. “You can breathe. You’re okay.”

            Steve gasps, just one, quick breath that shudders through his body. He holds Tony for support, trying to keep his body upright. The first breath was rough, but the next few help with his panic. His face starts going back to the proper color, his eyes don’t look as frantic.

            Tony holds Steve, too. He wraps his arms around him, and even though it’s hard because Steve is a lot taller than him, he manages to keep them both on their feet. Steve’s hands are clutched tightly at Tony’s side, holding onto his jacket. His face is buried in Tony’s neck, trying to keep tears from streaming down his face but it’s nearly impossible.

            “It’s alright, Steve,” Tony whispers, rubbing circles on his back. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

            “I’m sorry, I…,” Steve begins, but Tony silences him with a gentle kiss.

            “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

            It probably takes ten minutes, but eventually Steve pushes himself back from Tony and wipes his face on the sleeve of his suit. Tony raises his thumbs to wipe away anything else that lingers, and the two of them look at each other for a moment.

            “You ready to go?” Tony asks.

            Steve takes another deep breath. “I want to go home,” he says. “I’m sorry I ruined the night.”

            “You didn’t ruin anything, Steve,” Tony insists.

            “I just…wasn’t expecting to actually see him here.”

            Tony bites his lip for a second. “I think he was just trying to scare you,” he says after a moment. “He wanted you to know that he thinks he’s still in control.”

            “He might as well be. I freaked out.”

            “I don’t want you to go home by yourself anymore,” Tony says firmly. “I’ll come with you to pick up some clothes or whatever you need, but I want you to stay with me.”

            Steve sighs. “I don’t need to be protected.”

            “I disagree.”

            Steve rubs his forehead. “I don’t want you to have to protect me. This is my fault. I shouldn’t be your problem.”

            “You aren’t a problem, Steve. Everybody’s got some weird baggage, and yours just happens to be a scary guy who is stalking you.”

            “What’s yours?” Steve asks suddenly, because maybe if Tony has some “weird baggage” then he can feel better about things.

            Tony just laughs at the question. “I _am_ the baggage.”

            Steve can’t help but to laugh back, and his chest feels a little less heavy. He presses his forehead against Tony’s for a second, sighing, breathing in his breath, and then kisses him gently.

            They’ve probably been in the bathroom for a full twenty minutes by the time Steve decides he looks presentable enough to go back into the gallery. They’ve been in there so long that anyone who might have been waiting for them to come out has already been forced to move on.

            When they finally emerge, the guards block the view so whoever might have been watching can’t see what shape they’re in. Steve starts to head for the front door, expecting Tony to just follow, but instead Tony leads him back to his work that hangs in the middle of the gallery.

            “I wanted to see it in its glory,” Tony says, and he stares at the painting for a long time appreciatively. Steve feels nervous as he stands there, but he doesn’t move away. He tries to see what Tony sees in his art, but to him, it’s just something he painted. It doesn’t look like anything special, and it wasn’t even very difficult to do. The hardest part was going home the one night to finish it.

            “Is this one for charity, too?” Tony asks.

            Steve nods. “Yes. And you can’t buy it.”

            “I wasn’t going to,” Tony says back. “Somebody else needs to be able to hang an original Steve Rogers in their house, too.”

            Tony is finally ready to go, and they walk out of the gallery together. The valet brings the car around, and when they get in, Steve feels like the world has been lifted off his shoulders. For the brief ride back to Tony’s house, suddenly everything is okay again. It’s just the two of them and it feels good.

            The fear only returns when Tony pulls into his garage and Steve thinks he sees a shadow around the corner, or around every corner. Tony must notice that he’s acting strange because he takes his hand, kisses it, and leads him inside his highly secure tower.

            “Everything will be okay,” Tony assures him. “Nobody gets past the security here.”

            “I literally walked into your house a dozen times,” Steve says uncertainly.

            “That’s because I told them to let you through.”

            Steve sighs. “I know I’m being a big baby about all this,” he says. “I need to just…handle it.”

            “How are you going to do that?”

            “I don’t know. Maybe confront him. Maybe beat him up.”

            “I’d like to see that.” When Steve’s eyebrows raise, Tony adds, “Not that I condone violence, but sometimes, some people deserve what’s coming.”

            “I’m too much of a wuss to do anything, anyway,” Steve shrugs. “All I can do is hope he gets tired of bothering me.”

            “They mostly do,” Tony nods. “I’ve had plenty of stalkers in my time. So many, I had to invent an excellent security system to keep them out.”

            Steve smiles a bit, but the worry doesn’t disappear completely from his face.

            When they make it back to the 51st floor, Tony goes to the bedroom to change into his pajamas. Steve starts slowly undressing, laying the suit on the bed one piece at a time until he’s just standing there in his underwear. He jumps when Tony’s hands wrap around him from behind.

            “Sorry,” Tony murmurs, kissing the back of Steve’s neck and then lets go of him.

            Steve puts the suit back on the hanger it came from and then stretches out on the bed. He’s exhausted from the mental stress of the day, and when Tony comes to lay down beside him, just pressing their bodies together, Steve sighs contently.

            “I like this,” Steve says quietly. “Just being here with you, like this.”

            “Good. Because I like it too.”

            They are quiet for a moment until Steve says, “If it ever becomes too much, you’ll tell me, right?”

            Tony shifts so that his chest is pressed flush against Steve’s. He rests his head in the nook between Steve’s neck and his shoulder.

            “I’ll let you know,” Tony finally says. “But I doubt it’ll happen.”

            “But if it does, I’ll understand.”

            “Then you promise me that if I ever become too much, you’ll tell me, too.”

            Steve nods, burying his face in Tony’s hair. “I promise, Tony.”

            “Good night, Steve,” Tony says.

            “Good night, Tony.”

 

            It’s morning when Steve stretches and realizes that Tony is still wrapped around him like an octopus. He stays put for a while until his bladder forces him to shift slowly so he can get up.

            Tony stays asleep, so Steve wanders through the house into the kitchen. He opens the fridge a few times, expecting to see something new, but Tony doesn’t really have much food. He has sandwich supplies, and leftover pizza, and beer, but nothing for breakfast.

            He goes and puts clothes on quickly and then heads outside. The valet must have seen him coming, because he’s got his car ready to go.

            “Having a good morning, Mr. Rogers?” the valet asks.

            “Yes, so far,” Steve nods.

            He’s halfway to the grocery store before the events from yesterday even enter his mind, and he’s parked in a parking spot before the fear that he may be being watch creeps up on him. But he keeps his face level and his feet moving because he wants to get some supplies for breakfast so he can surprise Tony, and that suddenly seems more important than worrying about Paul following him. Because Tony’s right. What are the chances that Paul could break through the state-of-the-art security system that has kept so many other stalkers out?

            Steve hurries through the store. He buys a loaf of bread, eggs, milk, butter, and syrup. He’s going to make a pretty simple breakfast of French toast, but Tony has a secret sweet tooth so he’s pretty sure it’ll be appreciated.           

            When he gets to the check out line, the woman smiles flirtatiously with him and he just smiles back because he can’t wait to get back home, to make this food, and to eat it with Tony. And maybe after breakfast they’ll have a little fun. Maybe a lot of fun. Maybe they’ll spend the whole afternoon together curled up on the couch and watch old TV reruns.

            Steve is in such a good mood, that when he’s at the red light waiting to turn left about a mile from the tower, he doesn’t see the black SUV swerve out of the far right lane and intentionally smash into his car. He doesn’t even realize that something has happened until he sees his car spin into oncoming traffic, until he feels the impact of yet another vehicle hitting him from the side. He doesn’t realize that he’s hurt until he sees blood on the airbag in front of him, and broken eggs in the passenger floorboard of his car.

            Steve stares at the eggs for a long time, not understanding what has just happened. He can hear horns and sirens and people running to ask him if he’s alright, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the eggs. Because they are broken. How is he going to make French toast without eggs?

            Eventually, he passes out.


	12. Chapter 12

TWELVE

 

            When he comes to, Steve is aware of an annoying pain in his arm. His eyes flutter open, but it’s too bright so he shuts them again. From his quick glimpse, he can tell that he’s in a hospital bed, but he doesn’t remember how he got there, or why his body is suddenly aching so much.

            He can hear monitors to his left making noises, and his hand is trapped in something warm. It takes a him a moment to realize that it’s someone else’s hand against his own, and that he’s not trapped. It actually feels nice.

            He manages to open his eyes again, and this time keeps them open for a few seconds so he can look around the room. The first thing he sees is Tony sitting in a chair next to the bed, his head leaned back; asleep. It’s Tony’s hand who is gripping Steve’s so tightly, though.

            Steve also sees that his other arm, the one that hurts, is wrapped in a sling. He can’t tell if the bone is broken, or just sprained. He doesn’t have the strength to move it to see how bad it hurts. He wants to sit up, but there is no way to do it. He’s attached to too many machines, and his body hurts too much anyway.

            He lies still for a few more moments, just trying to get the memories to come back to him. How did he get here, what happened? But still nothing comes to mind, and eventually the curiosity gets to him so he squeezes Tony’s hand gently.

            Tony’s eyes flutter open and he looks around like he’s confused, too, and then he realizes that Steve is awake and his eyes go wide.

            “Steve!” he says. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” he asks in a rush.

            Steve shakes his head. “What…happened?” he manages to ask. His throat is raw for some reason.

            “You were in a car accident,” Tony says slowly. “You got hit pretty bad.”

            Steve squints, having trouble visualizing what Tony is talking about.

            “Am I…okay?” he asks after a moment.

            Tony nods. “Thank god, but yes you’re okay. You’re banged up pretty good. Concussion, bruised sternum, your arm hit the window really hard but it’s not broken. They say you’re going to be okay.”

            Steve nods, still not completely accepting the facts. He doesn’t remember being in an accident. He was at the store, getting supplies for breakfast. What happened after?

            “My car?” he asks.

            Tony sighs. “Your car is gone. Totaled for sure.”

            Steve grimaces. He can’t afford another car right now.

            “My fault?” he asks.

            Tony’s face goes from confused to angry to unreadable in a matter of milliseconds. “You don’t remember the accident?” he asks carefully.

            “No. Did someone…get hurt?”

            Tony shakes his head. “You got the worst of it, babe. A car came out of nowhere and pushed you into the intersection. Two oncoming cars smacked into you from there. Everyone is okay, though. It wasn’t your fault.”

            Steve nods, sighing in relief. He’s not sure he could deal with being the cause of an accident and someone else getting hurt because of it. He’s a pretty careful driver. Always has been. He’s actually never been in a car accident before.

            “You okay?” Steve asks, squeezing Tony’s hand again.

            Tony wipes his eyes as if trying to get dust out of them, but he finally nods. “I was worried sick about you,” he confesses. “You wouldn’t wake up for a long time.”

            “How long?”

            “It’s been three hours.”

            Steve’s face falls. “I was going…to make you breakfast.”

            Tony just shakes his head, but he smiles gently. “Another time. Don’t you worry, we’ve got plenty of time for breakfast.”

            “When can I go home?”

            “Let me get the doc,” Tony says. He gets up, and when his hand leaves Steve they both feel the sudden loss.

            “Hurry up,” Steve calls after him.

            It only takes a few seconds for the feeling of being alone to creep up into Steve’s head. He begins to think, and the thinking causes him to worry. He can’t remember the car accident, but for some reason, Tony’s behavior about it concerns him.          

            When Tony comes back, Steve tries to wipe the look of worry off his face. It doesn’t go unnoticed, though, and Tony slides his hand back in with Steve’s.

            “Doctor will be here in a minute,” he says. “I looked at your charts, though. Nothing broken; they should be able to send you home.”

            Steve tries to twist a little so he can get a better look at Tony, but pain shoots though his back and he groans instead.

            “Something hurt?” Tony asks.

            “Just my back,” he says. “Maybe just bruised.”

            “Might be.” But the look of apprehension on Tony’s face makes Steve worry. Just how badly injured was he?

            “What do I look like?” Steve asks.

            “Beautiful, as always,” Tony says.

            Steve’s cheeks burn red, but he rolls his eyes despite his embarrassment. He doesn’t ask about his appearance again, because he doesn’t want the heart monitor to read the way his heart jumps when Tony says sappy stuff like that. He may never stop, if he knows that Steve _likes_ it.

            When the doctor comes by, he looks at Steve’s charts before asking him if he can get up. Steve forces the pain away until he’s in a seated position, his legs over the side of the bed. He doesn’t like the way Tony is watching him like a hawk, but he knows that if he can’t get on his own two feet, the doctor won’t let him go home. And for some reason, he just wants to go home right now. He wants Tony to wrap him in his arms and the wants to just fall asleep like that.

            When he’s actually standing on his feet, the pain seems a to lessen a bit. He staggers as he tries to take a step, and he doesn’t miss the way Tony’s hands reach out to steady him, but at the very last moment Tony pulls back. He wants Steve to know he can do this on his own.

            “Looking good,” the doctor says. “I want to run a few more tests, but you’ll be able to go home later tonight, if you want to.”

            “I’m ready to go now,” Steve insists.

            The doctor chuckles. “We just need some blood work, maybe a CT scan. Your concussion was pretty rough. You might feel some dizziness over the next few days. Headaches and temporary confusion are also common.”

            Steve nods. Surprisingly, this isn’t his first concussion.

            When the doctor leaves the room again, Steve doesn’t want to sit back down on the bed. He actually dreads doing that.

            “Can we go for a walk?” Steve asks. “I feel okay.”

            Tony hesitates, but finally he nods. He stands a few inches from Steve, ready to catch him if he starts to wobble, but Steve feels stronger with each step he takes. He still has pain shooting down his body from his back, but it’s not so bad when he stands. This isn’t even the worst pain he’s ever been though. There was the time he fell off the monkey bars at school and broke his leg. That was painful. This is just an inconvenience.

            “You’re doing so good,” Tony comments, feeling like he can step a few more inches away.

            “I heal fast,” Steve says. “Always have.”

            Tony looks like he’s about to make a witty joke, but his phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket. His face clenches for a moment before he sighs and holds up a finger for Steve to wait. He steps back a few paces to answer, talking low, but Steve still hears most of the conversation.

            It sounds like it’s between Tony and the police, because he’s asking if they’ve “found the guy” and “how hard can it be to track down a totaled SUV.” Tony makes several frustrated noises before pulling his phone away from his ear and disconnecting the call. He sighs in annoyance, recomposes himself, and then steps back up next to Steve.

            “Sorry,” he says, but doesn’t offer any further explanation.

            “Everything okay?”

            Tony nods, but he still doesn’t seem to want to give up any information. Not yet. He wants Steve to get better first, and then they can talk about what really happened in the accident, about who is _really_ responsible.

            But Steve isn’t giving in. He seems to know the phone call had to do with him, and he wants to know why.

            “Maybe you should sit down,” Tony says, gesturing to a chair across the hall.

            Steve goes over to it, groaning when he sits, but then looks up expectantly.

            “Your car was hit on purpose,” Tony begins. “An unknown assailant went across three lanes of traffic and intentionally pushed you into oncoming traffic. The driver was in a black SUV, but traffic cameras lost track of it a few blocks up the road. I’m trying to track it down using my own software, but so far the police haven’t been very forthcoming with information.”

            Steve sucks in a breath. “Someone…hit me…on purpose?”

            Tony nods, taking Steve’s hands between his own. “I’ll find him, don’t’ worry.”

            “Who?” Steve asks, though it sounds like a dumb question because he already knows _who_.

            “I can’t be sure,” Tony says anyway. “The SUV had blackout windows, and since the trail has gone cold I couldn’t see who got out of the vehicle.”

            “But you have an idea,” Steve questions. He wants Tony to say it. He wants Tony to admit that Paul is, in fact, a bigger threat than they thought possible.

            “I’m going to keep you safe,” Tony says instead. “I’ve got guards at all the entrances to this hospital ward, and at home I’ve got patrols at every entrance. He isn’t going to be able to get to you.”

            Steve leans forward and lets Tony’s arms envelop him. He wants to say something, to just apologize profusely about bringing Tony into this, but he can’t. He just holds onto Tony’s shirt tightly and lets him run soothing circles across his back.

 

            Hours later, when Steve is cleared to go home, a nurse brings a wheel chair and insists on wheeling him outside. She says it’s hospital policy, but Steve wonders if maybe she just wants to see what kind of car he and Tony Stark are loading up into.

            Tony had to leave briefly so he could pull the car up, and the loss of contact and feeling of safety makes him nervous. Guards follow in front and behind him as the nurse wheels him towards the hospital exit, but for some reason, just having Tony present made him feel more at ease than these trained guards.

            Steve is shocked when he arrives outside and Tony is waiting along with a convoy. A car in front, and a car behind. He doesn’t comment on it as Tony helps him into the car, but when the door shuts and Tony goes to the driver’s side, Steve looks around and wonders why anyone would go through so much trouble for him. _Because_ of him.

            When Tony gets in, he instantly connects his hand with Steve’s and brings it to his lips briefly. They don’t talk the whole ride back to Tony’s place. They just sit in silence, and Steve sees Tony scanning every intersection looking for danger.

            Eventually they pull up at the tower and Tony drives into the garage. The guards wait until the garage door shuts behind them and then they begin to secure the perimeter.

            Tony comes around and helps Steve to his feet, and they get in the elevator together, riding to the 51st floor, still in silence. Steve wishes Tony would talk, just to break up the silence or yell at him, or just… _say something_. But he doesn’t. Not even when they’re inside, shoes off, heading for the bed.

            “Need anything?” Tony asks finally. He’s got Steve tucked into bed, but it’s clear he doesn’t plan on staying. And even though Steve desperately wants him to stay, he shakes his head anyway. He doesn’t want to be a burden on Tony.

“Get some sleep, okay? I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” Tony says, kissing his forehead.

            Steve watches Tony go, wondering why he’s here by himself, wondering what else Tony is doing. He knows it must be important, because everything Tony does is important, but it still doesn’t change the fact that he really, really wishes Tony would just come in the room, cuddle up with him, tell him everything is going to be okay one more time.

            Instead, he hears Tony clacking away on a laptop keyboard, and the sound eventually lulls him to sleep.

            He wakes up a few times through the night. The first time, just to Tony murmuring lighting to someone on the phone about “tracing a call,” and the second time to Tony having a quiet, but heated, conversation with someone in the living room. Steve wants to get out of bed and find out what’s going on, but he’s too tired and he falls asleep again before he can.

            It’s nearing dawn when Steve wakes up again, and this time he feels warm. It takes him a second to realize that the hot breath on his shoulder is coming from Tony, and that the other man has wrapped himself around Steve and has fallen asleep.

            Steve doesn’t move, just enjoys the feeling of being wrapped up with Tony. He wonders how long they’ve been like this. How long did it take Tony to come to bed after tucking Steve in when they’d first gotten back?

            After twisting slightly, and ignoring the pain that has crept back up into his body, Steve can get a better look at Tony’s face. He looks peaceful, but the worry lines have etched into his forehead. He looks as if he’s had a very long night and falling asleep next to Steve is some sort of reward for a day’s hard work.

            It makes Steve feel guilty. Tony is taking such good care of him, but he can’t do anything to repay him. He will never be rich enough, famous enough, good enough to be worth anything to Tony. He’s surprised things between them have gone on as long as they have, just a few weeks in, because of how unworthy he is of Tony’s affection.

            Steve stares at Tony for a long time, wondering how this relationship even came about. Was it simple attraction for Tony? Steve knew he was attractive, but maybe it was something else. Maybe Tony had liked the company. Maybe Tony was just lonely. Maybe he wanted someone to show off to the media to make the world angry. Steve just couldn’t imagine it being anything else other than good sex, though. Because he had nothing to offer.

            It scared him how much he liked Tony. Maybe even… _loved_ him. He liked being made to feel important, special, like he was someone worthy of love. Even if it was just a façade and it was all just meaningless sex for Tony, Steve was glad he’d gotten the opportunity to be a part of whatever it was. And even if Tony broke things off with him tomorrow and he went back to the way things were before, Steve would still be glad for the short time he got to spend with someone as amazing as Tony Stark.

            Sighing gently, Steve reaches up with his free arm and traces Tony’s jaw lightly. He’s surprised when Tony’s eyes flutter open and, tiredly, looks back at Steve.

            “You okay?” Tony asks, yawning.

            “Yes,” Steve answers.

            “Sorry I was up so late,” Tony says, barely above a whisper. “I had some work to do.”

            “It’s okay,” Steve nods. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

            Tony pulls him in closer, wraps a leg around one of Steve’s. He dips in and kisses him, just a peck, but it sends shivers down Steve’s spine.

            “Go back to sleep, Steve,” Tony says.

            “Okay,” Steve agrees.

            Tony’s eyes close again, and he’s asleep within minutes, but Steve can’t fall back asleep for a long time. He just stares at Tony, wondering how he ever got so lucky to just… _be_ here. He wonders what it will be like when Tony eventually tosses him aside. How badly will his heart break, how long will it hurt for?


	13. Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

 

            It’s a week later and Steve wakes up again alone. It’s almost noon, but the first thing he realizes is that Tony isn’t wrapped around him anymore. It’s not that surprising, though, seeing how late in the morning it is.

            Steve manages to get up and wander over to the bathroom, grimacing only when he bumps his shoulder against the door frame. It’s harder than he expected to urinate using the opposite hand he usually holds himself with, but he finally finishes with a triumphant smile on his face. He thinks about taking a shower, but the thought of holding himself upright for so long sounds incredibly daunting. He thinks he can probably talk Tony into taking a bath with him later on, anyway.

            Speaking of Tony, Steve realizes that the house is very quiet. He heads into the living room, but he doesn’t see Tony, nor in the kitchen, or anywhere else. A moment of worry washes over him, but he pushes it down. There is no way Paul could have gotten into the tower. It wouldn’t be possible. There are tons of guards outside, and Tony invented his own security system.

            Still dressed in his pajamas, Steve gets on the elevator and rides it down to the basement level. He signs contently when he sees Tony under a large metal frame, welding something onto it. Steve watches him for several minutes until Tony puts the welder down and goes for another tool.

            “Tony,” Steve calls, not waking to scare him but unsure of how else to announce his presence.

            Tony jumps anyway, but when he sees it’s Steve he smiles and pushes himself out from under the metal frame.

            “How’re you feeling?” Tony asks, brushing his hands off on his pants and coming a few steps forward to peck Steve on the lips.

            “I’m feeling okay. Still tired, but can’t sleep anymore.”

            Tony nods. “Me too,” he says. “I slept a couple hours, but then genius struck me so I came down here.”

            “What are you working on?”

            “Not sure yet,” he shrugs back. “But eventually I’ll find a use for it. And welding is peaceful.”

            “It’s loud,” Steve counters back.

            “I guess just thinking thoughts and making them into something tangible is peaceful,” Tony says.

            Steve nods. “And you say I’m the artist.”

            Tony grins. “I could be a metalworking artist. Can’t be too hard, right?”

            “I think everything you create is art by definition,” Steve murmurs, and then his ears turn red because did he _really_ just say something to sappy?

            Tony’s face brightens though, seeming to actually appreciate that someone noticed that he creates things, and that Steve called it art.

            “Want some breakfast?” Tony asks. “I got some groceries delivered earlier. I could make you…toast.”

            Steve grins. “I think I can manage to whip up something.”

            “You sure? Don’t overdo it.”

            “I’m feeling okay,” Steve nods back. It’s not a lie, either. Steve usually heals very quickly, but the car accident must have done more damage than he initially thought because his body is only almost there. His shoulder is still wrapped up in the sling, which is annoying, but the doctor told him to wear it for a week. Tomorrow will be officially a week, so it’ll be coming off for sure. Steve’s back still hurts if he tries to bend or twist too fast, but he is getting around just fine.

            Even the concussion is mostly gone, though, sometimes Steve still hears ringing in his ears or feels dizzy when he’s walking. All in all, Steve thinks one more day of resting will be plenty. He probably wouldn’t have rested this long anyway, but Tony insisted.

            Tony would bring him meals in bed and spoon feed him like a baby. They’d sit curled up together for hours, but Steve would almost always wake up alone and hear Tony in the other room on the phone or clacking away on his computer. He didn’t like how much time Tony was devoting to finding Paul. It seemed like Tony had developed a fixation, and it didn’t seem healthy.

            “Let’s go upstairs,” Steve says, and it’s more of a question. Does Tony have time for him today?

            “Alright,” Tony nods, and he wipes his hands on his pants and they head to the elevator together.

            “What are you hungry for?” Steve asks, brushing his hand against Tony’s and smiling when it’s taken.

            “You know me. I can eat anything.”

            Steve nods, and when they reach their floor he heads into the kitchen and opens the fridge. He’s surprised to see that it’s actually stocked better than it usually is, but for some reason he stands there just staring at the groceries until Tony comes up behind him and touches his hand.

            “You okay?” he asks.

            It takes a moment, but Steve finally nods. “I was just thinking,” he says.

            “About last time you went to the store?” Tony surmises.

            “Yes.”

            “Well, I made sure there would be stuff in here for you. In case you decided to become a chef again.”

            Steve grins, and he finally pulls out a few items. He’s going to have to one-arm this cooking thing today, and the easiest thing he can think to make is a couple grilled cheese sandwiches. Quick, easy, and only requires one hand for flipping.

            He pulls out the supplies and Tony sits with his chin on his hands at the bar. Steve gets all the way up to the point of buttering the bread when he realizes that in fact, this part might require two hands. He sighs and turns, looking helplessly at Tony.

            Tony just grins and steps up behind Steve, pressing him gently into the counter as he reaches around and helps butter the bread.

            “Where’d you learn to cook, anyway?” Tony asks.

            “Grilled cheese is hardly cooking.”

            “It’s a step further than the toast I can make,” Tony insists.

            Steve shrugs. “I guess,” he says slowly, “when I was a kid I was alone a lot, so I had to learn to take care of myself.”

            He feels Tony stiffen a bit behind him, and he’s pretty sure it’s the first personal thing he’s ever revealed about himself. He’s not even sure why he mentioned it. It would have been so easy to just lie and say he’d learned to cook as an adult. It would have been so easy to omit his terrible childhood. But, for some reason, he felt like telling the truth. He wants Tony to know everything about him.

            “Where were your parents?” Tony murmurs.

            He shrugs again. “My dad was in the army and died when I was really young. My mom…,” he trails off, sighing. “She had to do certain things to get money so we could live in our tiny apartment in the city. Guess I learned it from somewhere.” He says it almost angrily, but he bites his lip. He’d loved his mother until the day she died. He wishes he had better memories of her, better stories to tell. But the only thing he can remember is his mother telling him to hide in the closet when a client would come by.

            Steve feels Tony wrap his arms around him, still from behind. He presses backwards into the embrace, but they don’t talk for a long time.

            “I’m sorry you went through that,” Tony finally says, breaking the silence.

            “What were your parents like?” Steve asks.

            Tony stiffens again, but he relaxes faster than before. “My mom was kind. She tried to protect me from my father,” Tony says. “But he wanted a protégé, and that meant drilling into my head algorithms and advanced trigonometry at a very young age. I guess I’m grateful for it now that I’m an adult, but I do wish I’d been able to do more kid stuff. You know, little league, trips to the zoo.”

            Tony lets go of Steve and turns so that he can lean against the counter. Steve starts to cook the sandwiches while Tony watches him.

            “My parents died when I was in college anyway,” Tony says. “I sometimes wonder if I’d have been happier with them around. Let my dad run the company. Go off and do my own thing.”

            Steve flips the first sandwich. “What do you think you’d be doing, if not this?” he asks.

            “I don’t know. But it would have been choice, you know? This life was sort of cut out for me and I never had any other option. Maybe I’d have been a garbage man. Maybe I’d have been the president.”

            “Never too late to switch careers,” Steve says.

            Tony nods. “You’d still want to be with me if I was a garbage man?”

            Steve smiles back, but the realization that Tony wants to be with him, despite what he was doing before they met, makes his forehead crease.

            “You think too much,” Tony says quickly, and he reaches up to rub the worry out of Steve’s mind.

            A few minutes later, Steve finishes up the grilled cheese and he puts them on a plate. He and Tony sit across from each other and wait for them to cool off, making small talk and carefully avoiding anything about the past. Steve wants Tony to know everything about him and he wants to know everything about Tony, but it’s going to take a while to ease into things.

            When they’re finished eating, they clean the dishes together even though Tony grumbles playfully about it. Eventually, they end up on the couch together. Steve sits on his side and lets Tony slide in front of him.

            They pretend to watch TV, but really sitting like this together is just an excuse to enjoy the closeness of each other. They haven’t slept together, in an intimate way, for a week. Just pressing against Tony is enough to make Steve burn a little hotter. He absentmindedly rubs himself against Tony’s body, and it’s only when Tony pretend coughs that Steve grins.

            “Sorry,” he says.

            “Why?” Tony questions, and he shifts so that he is facing Steve, their chests pressed together. He reaches down slowly and rubs Steve’s thigh. “I could make you feel good, Steve. If you want me to.”

            Steve can’t help it, his hips jerk forward involuntarily. “God, I want you to,” he breathes.

            Tony shifts again, using his hands to move Steve where he wants him. Tony sits back on his knees and slowly pulls Steve’s pajama bottoms down, revealing his growing erection. He wastes no time in wrapping his hand around the base of Steve’s cock, pumping slowly until he’s fully hard.

            “You okay?” Tony questions, looking up to make sure.

            “Yesssss,” he says back, biting his lip.

            Tony looks up once more before lower his mouth down. He circles Steve’s cock with his tongue, licking once before slipping the head past his lips. Steve stiffens, and then he groans. He uses his hand to run through Tony’s hair, gently guiding himself deeper as Tony sucks him off.

            The blow job doesn’t last long: Steve’s been pent up for way too long, but when Tony laps up every bit of his come Steve starts to shift so he can repay the favor.

            “This one’s just for you,” Tony says, putting a hand on Steve’s chest and pushing him back down. He then cuddles back up, letting Steve’s arm wrap around him.

            Steve falls asleep not too long after. He’s spent, and he’s tired, and that’s all he needs in order to have good dreams.

            Tony, however, isn’t able to sleep. When he’s sure Steve is out, he gets up and moves over to the lounge chair at the other end of the couch and opens up his laptop. He checks his email for any updates searching for the hit and run vehicle but there aren’t any, and even though that’s frustrating he wasn’t expecting any less. It’s been a week. The trail has gone cold.

            Tony isn’t completely sure why he’s so fixated on finding Paul, but he knows he has to do it. Even if it’s simply to make Steve feel safer in the world, Tony will do it.

            He pulls up his traffic feed from the accident, watches the black SUV weave across three lanes and slam into Steve’s small car. He watches Steve’s car end up on the other side of the road, and then seconds later get slammed into head on. Tony doesn’t like to watch the next few minutes, because when the ambulance arrives, Steve is unresponsive. There is blood. Anyone else might have died in the accident, but Steve had made himself strong and survived worse than car accidents.

            Tony pulls up the next camera, which watches the black SUV speed off and pull into a parking lot just outside viewing range. He pulls up neighboring cameras, and even hacks into the ATM camera across the street, but there is no way to zoom in on the person who jumps out of the SUV and takes off running on foot.

            Tony has pictured it so many times. Paul hitting Steve’s car, then getting out and running away. It makes him sick just thinking about it. He can’t even fathom how many times Steve let the guy hurt him before it became too much. Tony had only seen evidence of it once before the accident, the night of their first kiss, and that was enough to make his blood boil.

            So he’d spent every moment possible over the last week working on this case. The police couldn’t specifically look for Paul, as there was no evidence he had caused the accident and Steve had never filed any reports of harassment from the guy, so it was literally looking for a needle in a haystack.

            Tony had made a system of searchable camera compilations looking for Paul’s face. Since he couldn’t see who got out of the SUV, he could at least try to find the man and see if he had been near the accident. So far, he’d caught Paul within a block of the accident. The first, he was running away, and the second, he was walking towards the scene. He stood on the corner while the ambulance loaded a non-responsive Steve into their vehicle.

            After the ambulance left, Paul had walked across the street, seemingly unsure of himself, before heading down a small business strip and going inside a building, a bank. He’s stayed there for eight hours, and after, Tony watched him walk across the street to a BMW, get in, and drive away. He followed the car all the way until Paul made it past the last public street camera, and from there, he can’t be sure what happened.

            Tony had shared his camera footage with the police, hoping they could just take it seriously, but they had said there was simply no evidence linking Paul to the accident. But just having Paul in the vicinity of the accident was enough to convince Tony. Actually, he had been convinced before seeing the man’s face on the cameras. He had gotten an alert on his phone about twenty minutes after Steve was admitted to the hospital, and within five minutes he was dressed and running to his car and on his way there. The whole time he was screaming at himself, “Why didn’t I take the threat more seriously?”

            Things could have been a lot worse than they were. Steve could have died, and that thought scares Tony. They’ve only been together for, officially, a few weeks, but Tony likes the way things are going. He’s already planning how he can arrange his space, how he can make room for Steve so they can be together all the time. He doesn’t even know if that’s something Steve wants, but Tony is willing to give long-term a try. And that’s a first for him.

            It’s probably hours later when Steve shifts on the couch, groans a little, and then sits up. Tony shuts his laptop and scoots over beside him.

            “Doing okay?” he asks, touching Steve’s leg gently.

            Steve nods. “Shoulder hurts laying like that.”

            “You know, I think you can take the sling off now,” Tony says. “Might be easier to sleep.”

            Steve nods, and Tony watches him slide out of the sling. Steve grimaces when he brings his arm out in front of him, stretching it for the first time.

            “Still hurts?”

            “Just stiff,” Steve responds.

            Tony moves over so he can sit behind Steve and slowly works his hands over the shoulder muscle. He massages it until it relaxes under his touch and Steve pushes back against his hands.

            “Feel better?”

            In response, Steve leans his head back so he can kiss Tony. It’s a little awkward, but Tony smiles into it anyway.

            “Want to go lay down in the bed?” Tony asks.

            “Not really,” Steve sighs, but he stands up anyway.

            It’s still pretty early in the evening, too early for any actual sleeping, but they lay down together and just breathe each other in. Steve uses his newly freed arm to wrap around Tony, pulling him closer, hoping it’ll keep him there for as long as possible.


	14. Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

 

            When Steve wakes up, he’s alone again. He’s beginning to expect it, so it doesn’t really phase him anymore.

            Another week has passed, and still not much has changed. Tony is withdrawn, and that worries Steve. They had stayed in the tower mostly, seeing each other as a routine for meals and Tony would come lay down with Steve until he fell asleep, and then he’d go off and do whatever it was he was working on.

            That morning, Tony had gotten a call just after the sun came up. He’d left the room to take it and Steve couldn’t make out his hushed words, but when Tony returned, he seemed a bit more relaxed. He hadn’t given any explanation, but Steve didn’t really care. Tony was behaving a little more like the old Tony, and that’s all he cared about.

            Steve had thought that, maybe, just maybe, Tony would be there in bed when he woke up. But he wasn’t really surprised when he woke up alone. He stretched a bit and then headed for the living room, and when he didn’t see Tony there he knew he’d be down in the lab. Tony was only ever in two places, either on the couch or in his lab.

            Steve grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and then heads down to the lab. He knows Tony has probably been in there all night, probably just minutes after Steve had fallen asleep. He is probably welding something, or building something, or drawing schematics for some new technology the world needs. Just anything to get his mind off Steve and his situation.

            It makes Steve feel a little…worthless, as if all he’s good for is to cause Tony worry and stress. Steve knows it’s not really true, but lately he just feels it. And the more the thinks it, the more he thinks he should just go on his own way and let Tony go back to the life of luxury he had before.

            When he gets down to Tony’s lab, he smiles when he hears music playing. He sees Tony bent over a table using an etching tool to put tiny details into a sheet of metal. Steve still has no idea what it is Tony is building, but he is fascinated by the artistic movements the man makes as he moves over the metal.

            “Good morning,” Steve says, and Tony whips around, startled.

            “Morning,” Tony says. “Wasn’t expecting you up this early.”

            “Well, it’s actually almost noon.”

            Tony blinks, seemingly unaware of how long he’s been in his lab. “Sleep good?” he finally returns.

            Steve nods, and then approaches. Tony pecks him on the lips and then graciously accepts the bottle of water Steve has brought down for him.

            “I got carried away working on this,” Tony says, splaying his hand across the metal sheet. “I just couldn’t sleep knowing it was unfinished.”

            “Any other plans for the day?” Steve asks.

            “Not really. Unless you have something planned.”

            Steve grins. “Not really,” he shrugs back. “I’m feeling a little like drawing today.”

            “Yeah?” Tony says, and the excitement doesn’t escape his face. It’s been a while since Steve picked up a pencil to draw, and for some reason, it makes Tony happy when he talks about it.

            “I’d just need to go to my place to get my supplies,” Steve says. “Any chance you’d want to come with me?”

            Tony hesitates, because he doesn’t want Steve leaving the safety of the tower, but he finally nods. “Sure. Just let me get cleaned up a bit.”

            “I could use a shower, too,” Steve says suggestively, and Tony gets a wicked smile on his face.

            “Really now?”

            They head back up the elevator together, wasting no time to head into the bathroom. Tony’s already stripped naked by the time Steve even has his shirt off, and he’s taken by surprise when Tony pulls him forward and kisses him deeply, running his hands under the waistband of Steve’s pajama pants.

            Steve grins back, realizing this is the first time in a while that Tony has shown any real interest in being intimate. He’s gotten a couple blow jobs over the last week, but Tony didn’t want reciprocation. He just kept saying, “A blow job a day keeps the doctor away.” But now he’s letting Steve touch him back, and Steve thinks that maybe, maybe everything is going to be alright after all.

            The shower lasts half an hour longer than it should. Tony asked, _begged_ , to be fucked against the cold tile wall, and Steve had every intention of repaying the pleasure Tony had been springing on him all week. He made sure Tony was satisfied completely before allowing himself to come, and they stood under the spray of the shower together for several minutes.

            By the time they get out, the entire room is filled with thick steam.

            “Do we really have to go anywhere?” Tony grumbles as the cold air hits his warm skin.

            “Not really,” Steve says, “but it would be nice to have some supplies.”

            “I can order anything and have it here in two hours.”

            “Or I can just go get my stuff from home and we can be back in one hour.”

            “But…we could stay here, naked, all day,” Tony refutes.

            “As wonderful as that sounds, at some point, we both have to get dressed.”

            “Technically, I own this place so I never have to get dressed. And my guests are under strict rules of ‘no shirts, no problems.’”

            Steve just rolls his eyes and brings his lips to Tony’s. He knows Tony is just joking, but there is also something serious about the way he really doesn’t want to leave. Not just that, but how he really doesn’t want _Steve_ to leave. Either he’s actually worried that there are real threats in the world, or he is turning into a homebody. Either way, Steve has to prove that they can go outside together without worrying that danger is lurking around every corner.

            They get dressed and Tony makes a few half-hearted attempts to convince Steve to stay, but he’s also extremely curious about Steve’s apartment. He’s never been there before, and since Steve has plenty of clothes at the tower he hasn’t had to go home since before the accident. Tony wants to know what Steve’s house looks like, where he used to sit and sleep and eat food. He’s always been curious, but Steve never offered for him to come over before. And now, even though the timing makes him nervous, Tony is excited to be going to this mysterious Brooklyn apartment.

            Tony drives as usual, and since Steve is still a bit weary of cars after the accident. He knows it’s extremely unlikely to be cornered again but he still lets his eyes wander around the streets in hopes that he _doesn’t_ see anything dangerous. Steve’s eyes wander over to Tony, and he realizes that Tony is doing the same thing.

            “Everything’s okay,” Steve murmurs quietly.

            “I know. Just want to make sure it stays that way.”

            Tony takes Steve’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly.

            Every once in a while, Steve will mention a direction to go, but for the most part they stay quiet for the whole ride into Brooklyn. When they finally pull into Steve’s neighborhood, Tony’s flashy car stands out like a sore thumb.

            “This is the place,” Steve says, his voice still lower than usual. For some reason he’s suddenly very self-conscious about showing Tony where he has lived for so long. It doesn’t look like it’ll be enough anymore, even though it was always enough before he met Tony.

            Steve leads Tony up the stairs to his floor and then has to dig through his pockets for his keys. It’s been a while since he’s been back here, and when he pushes the door open he expects to see dust and cobwebs. Instead, it looks exactly the way he left it.

            Tony steps in behind him and closes the door, locking it for good measure. Steve watches carefully as Tony’s eyes scan around the living room.

            “I can picture you here,” Tony says finally. “Making dinner over there. Painting over there. Watching TV right here.”

            “Those are all things I have done here,” Steve says, grinning.

            “You don’t have a lot of stuff,” Tony comments.

            Shrugging, Steve says, “I had more, but a lot of it got broken and thrown away.”

            “Well, give me the tour, then,” Tony says, changing the subject. He wants to keep this adventure light and happy.

            Steve leads him around the house, pointing out random things like his empty pantry or the linen closet by the bathroom for comedic relief. He pauses in the doorway of his bedroom, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. He’s never had someone else in his house like this; someone like Tony: Someone he cares about, someone he has sex with because they’re in a relationship.

            “This is where the magic happens?” Tony questions.

            Steve just rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyway. “This is home,” he says eventually. “Not much to look at, but it’s served me well.”

            Tony moves around the room, playing with things on the shelf or opening random drawers. Steve watches him carefully, looking for any sign that he is less than impressed. But he doesn’t see that. Instead, Tony seems fascinated by the apartment.

            Steve eventually leaves him alone in the bedroom while he goes to put some of his art supplies in a bag to take back to the tower. He’s flipping through his canvases, the ones with holes and rips, when Tony comes up behind him and hugs his shoulders.

            “What’s this?” Tony asks, pointing to the stack of broken art.

            “Just old stuff,” Steve shrugs back.

            Tony looks with him, seemingly unphased by the rips. “You are very talented,” he compliments.

            Steve’s cheeks burn red. “Thank you.”

            “You should have gone to art school.”

            “I did, for a while,” Steve shrugs. “Easier said than done.”

            “Yeah?” Tony asks curiously.

            “I had a scholarship when I graduated high school,” Steve begins. “I went for two years but couldn’t make ends meet. I ended up getting a job at a bar, and then…,” he trails off. And then he became a prostitute and sold himself for money.

            “And then you sold a painting for a million dollars,” Tony finishes.

            Steve just rolls his eyes. “That’s…,” but he trails off, because what can he say?

            “Still don’t know where the check is?” Tony asks.

            “Didn’t really look for it.”

            “Think about what charity you’ll give it to?”

            “Not really. I figured I’d worry about it when I had to.”

            “You could just keep it,” Tony shrugs.

            “I can’t keep it,” Steve says with a sigh. “I didn’t earn it.”

            “Because of the amount, or because you think I bought it because I thought you were hot?”

            “Both.”

            Tony just grins, but he lets the subject drop. He can tell that money seems to make Steve uncomfortable. Tony hasn’t experienced anyone like Steve before, someone who doesn’t want him for his money or for his fame. Maybe it’s why he’s so attracted to the guy. That, or because Steve is just insanely hot.

            “I’ve got everything I need, if you’re ready,” Steve says.

            “But there’s still so much to see here!” Tony complains. “And we haven’t even tried out your bed yet.”

            “It’s dusty,” Steve shrugs back. “Happens when you don’t come home for almost a month.”

            Tony looks hesitant, like he doesn’t want to leave the apartment, but he finally nods and heads for the door.

            “Need a hand with any of that?” he asks, pointing to the bag of supplies Steve has.

            “Nah. It’s not heavy.”

            On the other side of the door, Tony sighs. “I was expecting some kind of creepy sex den,” he admits.

            Steve just grins back, shaking his head. “I bet that’s what people say about your place,” Steve says.

            “Well, they’d be right.”

            “I have not yet seen one sign of a creepy sex den.”

            “You haven’t been to the 22nd floor, then.”

            Steve chuckles and the two of them head back outside to Tony’s car. He pretends not to notice, but Steve sees Tony look around cautiously before holding the car door open and then closing it when he’s is safely inside.

            They start off towards the tower with random banter between them. Steve tries to ignore the strange feeling he has, the one where he thinks Tony is more nervous about this whole Paul situation than he is, but he can’t push it aside. Tony is being so protective that it’s almost annoying. Not that Steve doesn’t appreciate it, but it just makes him nervous. Because, how long will it be until Tony realizes that protecting Steve is harder than it’s worth?

            They’re about ten minutes from the tower when Steve’s phone rings, and he has to look at it for several seconds because it’s the first time someone besides Tony has called him in a while.

            “Hello?” he finally answers.

            “ _I’m calling for Steven Rogers. Is he available?”_

            “This is him. May I ask who’s calling?”

            “ _Detective Blakely with Brooklyn PD. Do you have a moment to talk about your accident a few weeks ago?”_

            Steve nods dumbly before saying, “Um, yes.”

            “ _Could you come down to the station? This is regarding Paul Swanson.”_

            “I, um…,” he trails off, suddenly very nervous.

            “Who is it?” Tony asks.

            “It’s the police.”

            Tony’s eyes tighten and then he holds out his hand for the phone. Steve hands it over, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He tries to listen as Tony chats with the detective expertly. His pulse is so loud in his ears that he can barely hear what Tony says. When the conversation is over, he numbly takes his phone back and bites his lip.

            “The detective is going to come to the tower,” Tony says, taking Steve’s hand reassuringly. “He wants to talk about Paul, and why he may be involved in the accident.”

            “Why do they believe me now?” Steve manages to ask.

            Tony shrugs. “He wasn’t at liberty to discuss it over the phone.”

            Steve sucks in a breath, trying to control his emotions. He’s suddenly terrified, and he’s not sure why. For some reason, talking about Paul makes this whole thing real. Someone else believing that Paul caused the car accident makes it even more frightening, because it means it’s a possibility. It means that there’s a man out there who actually wants to harm him, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

            “It’ll be alright,” Tony says soothingly. “I’ll be right there with you, if you want me to.”

            Steve nods, but mostly because he can’t form any words. His head is spinning. He thinks he might be more afraid of explaining the situation with Paul than actually facing Paul again.


	15. Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

 

            It’s a few hours later when the detective arrives at the tower. Tony managed to get Steve calm with tea, and a gentle blow job that definitely helped. But as soon as the elevator dings and the detective walks off, Steve’s whole body goes rigid again.

            “I’m right here, if you want me to be,” Tony says soothingly.

            Steve nods, taking his hand and greeting the detective.

            “Mr. Rogers,” the Detective Blakely nods. “Sorry to inconvenience you. I just have a few questions.”

            “Okay,” Steve says quietly.

            Tony leads him over to the table and offers the detective a seat across from them. The detective pulls out a small notebook and a pen, flipping through it for a moment until he comes to a page that already has notes scribbled on it.

            “Mr. Rogers, I’m here to talk about Paul Swanson. We’ve been made aware that you think he is responsible for your car accident. Is that correct?”

            “Yes.”

            “And how so you know Mr. Swanson?”

            Steve bites his lip. Of course the most important question would be asked immediately.

            “I know him from my…line of work,” Steve says.

            “Are you familiar with a Lucas Provilla?”

            Steve nods slowly. “He works at the bar I used to work at.”

            “Lucas made a report about being attacked by Mr. Swanson, and said that we could speak with you about Mr. Swanson’s behavior to corroborate his story.”

            Steve’s eyes are a little wide. He wasn’t aware that Lucas had picked up Paul as a client. He suddenly feels guilty. More guilty than he’s ever felt before, because if he’d just said something, maybe Lucas wouldn’t have…

            “Is Lucas alright?” Steve asks, cutting his own thoughts off.

            The detective nods. “Cuts, bruises. But he’ll be alright. Mr. Swanson claims that their relationship was consensual. A type of BDSM that both men agreed to in advance.”

            Steve bit his lip, because it was completely possible. He hadn’t technically ever agreed to what Paul had done to him, but he’d never said no, either.

            “When we spoke with Mr. Swanson, he seemed extremely upset about you in particular. It was last week, shortly after your car accident. He claims that you and Lucas are out to ruin his business and his marriage by making these false claims.”

            “I haven’t claimed anything,” Steve says slowly.

            “Did Mr. Swanson ever harm you against your will?”

            Steve sighs. “I don’t know.”

            “You don’t know?”

            “It was complicated, I guess.”

            “But you are under the impression that Mr. Swanson caused your car accident? What makes you think that?”

            Steve shrugs again. He’s freezing up, unable to think clearly.

            “Hey,” Tony says gently. “It’s okay. You can tell the detective anything. He’s here to help you.”

            “So far, Mr. Rogers,” the detective goes on, “we have a few reports against Mr. Swanson from different people, but nothing concrete. I believe you. I do. But I need to know what happened so I can open an official investigation.”

            Steve feels Tony’s hand in his, squeezing him gently, telling him that everything will be okay. He opens his mouth a few times to speak, but he just can’t come up with anything to say.

            “Has Mr. Swanson ever made any direct threats against you?” the detective asks.

            “Um. I have…,” Steve gulps a little. He’s trying to regain control. He needs to do this, so that the police can investigate and maybe put a stop to Paul hurting other people. So he continues, “I have text messages from him threatening me, and…Tony,” Steve says.

            “Can I see them?”

            Steve nods and pulls out his phone, scrolling to the unanswered messages Paul had sent him when he’d first cut things off.

            “Why didn’t you make a report when he first sent these?”

            “I guess, I just thought he’d go away.”

            “You filed a report about two months ago about your apartment being broken into. At the time, you said you didn’t know who had done it.”

            Steve sighs. “Paul did it.”

            “How do you know?”

            “It was immediately after these messages were sent, and…,” he trails off again, looking over at Tony who nods reassuringly. “He wrote something on my mirror.”

            “What did he write?”

            “‘ _Slut_.’”

            “Why didn’t you tell the police about that?”

            “I just…wanted him to go away. I was embarrassed, I guess.”

            “Have you had any contact with Mr. Swanson recently?”

            “Not…that I can recall,” Steve pauses. “Oh, my art show. He was there.”

            “When was that?”

            “Right before the car accident.”

            The detective writes a few things down before looking up again. “Mr. Rogers, has Mr. Swanson ever injured you to the point of hospitalization?”

            “Um, well…,” he sighs again. “During our last encounter, he fractured one of my ribs.”

            “Do you have a hospital record for that? Did you make any sort of report?”

            “I told the hospital I fell down the stairs.”

            “Have you ever made any sort of official complaint against Mr. Swanson that might help this case?”

            “No.”

            “Have you ever talked to anyone else about Mr. Swanson’s threats?”

            “Um, a friend I have at the bar. Phil.”

            The detective nods. “Yes, I’ve already spoken to him. But at this point, we have three uncorroborated reports, and hearsay because no one ever officially reported Mr. Swanson until your friend Lucas.”

            Steve bites his lip, realizing that he’s not the only person that let Paul get away with what’s been going on, but he could have ended it. He could have made a police report. He could have prevented anyone else from getting hurt. He could have at least saved Lucas from suffering.

            “So what do we do?” Steve asks.

            “There’s not enough for an investigation, unfortunately. There is nothing linking Paul Swanson to any of your injuries or the break-in or the car accident. Your text messages are a start, but still just words and no proof of action. All we can go on is that Lucas was injured, and he made a report. But it’s he said she said in this case. Do you see where I’m going with this, Mr. Rogers?”

            Steve nods, but slowly. Because the detective is telling him that there is nothing, _nothing_ , that can be done. Paul gets to walk free, no consequences. He will hurt someone else. He may never stop.

            “I wish I could help you, Steve,” the detective says, and he looks sincere. “There is just no evidence.”

            Steve nods, feeling numb.

            “But if you see Mr. Swanson and he makes you uncomfortable, please don’t hesitate to call me. I would love nothing more than to put this scum away. But I can’t, if you don’t call.”

            Steve nods again, sucking in a breath and trying to hide the redness that is creeping into his cheeks. Tony lets go of his hand briefly to walk the detective over to the elevator, and then accepts the business cards offered. When Tony comes back, he wraps his arms around Steve tightly.

            “I’m sorry, Steve. I don’t know why the law is the way it is.”

            Steve sighs, biting his lip again. He can’t help it. The pain keeps him grounded, and right now, he just needs something to hold him together so he doesn’t fall apart in front of Tony.

            “I thought…telling the truth would make a difference,” Steve says. “But it doesn’t mean anything.”

            “It means you can move on from it,” Tony insists.

            “Someone else got hurt _because of me,_ Tony!” Steve groans back. “I could have…stopped him. I could have…”

            “This isn’t your fault, Steve. Paul is a sick man. This is _his_ fault.”

            Steve stands up, still biting his lip. He’s pretty sure he tastes blood, but he needs to step a few paces away from Tony.

            “I’m going to…take a shower,” he says. “Alone.”

            Tony’s eyes momentarily widen, but he hides it quickly. “Of course, babe. You do you. I’ll order some food while you’re in there. We’ll figure out a game plan when you’re ready.”

            Steve nods, but he quickly retreats into the bedroom so he can let the tears that are welling into his eyes escape. He turns on the shower quickly so that Tony won’t hear him sob. He eventually gets under the spray of water and hangs his head, trying not to think about what a failure he is.

            He probably stands under the water for an hour, and he’s not even showering. He’s just…standing there. When Tony knocks on the door gently, Steve wipes his face, as if somehow it’ll make it less noticeable that he’d cried until his head hurt.

            “Steve,” Tony says. “You doing alright in there?”

            “I’m fine,” he says back quickly.

            “Come out,” Tony tries. “Dinner’s going to be here soon.”

            “I will,” Steve promises, and he bites back a choking sound.

            Tony stands in the doorway for several moments until he sighs quietly and then heads back into the living room. He understands that Steve needs a few minutes to himself, but he just wishes he could do _something_ to help him feel better.

            Steve eventually steps out of the shower onto the cool tile floor and lets the water drip off him before grabbing a towel. He takes several deep breaths to steady himself and then goes to get dressed. From the living room, he can hear the elevator ding and he assume whatever food Tony ordered has arrived. He tries to put on a strong face for Tony. He’s going to eat dinner with him, and he’s going to find something to laugh about. He’s going to move past this whole thing because there doesn’t seem to be any other choice anyway.

            It takes him a few minutes to convince himself he’s ready, but finally, he pulls a shirt on and heads for the living room. He can do this. He can put on whatever face Tony needs to see.

            He rounds the corner and sees Tony standing at the bar, a couple bags of food in front of him. Steve starts to say something, ask what’s for dinner, but Tony’s body is rigid. He has a scowl. Everything about his stance says he is thoroughly uncomfortable.

            “Tony, what’s—,” Steve starts, and then the rest of the living room comes into view, and he can see suddenly why Tony is so stiff.

            The whole scene unfolds in seconds, but for Steve, it seems to take minutes. He sees Paul standing on the other side of the living room, right before the carpet meets the tile of the kitchen. He has a gun raised directly at Tony, a terrible sneer on his face, and when he sees Steve, his face only becomes more violent.

            “Steve,” Paul says. “Why don’t you go join your lover? I’ll kill you together.”

            Steve moves slowly, watching the gun as he moves towards Tony. When he reaches him, Steve touches his hand, which is perched on the bar in plain view. Obviously Paul must have told him to stay visible, so Steve puts his hands on the counter as well.

            “It’s going to be okay,” Tony says, loud enough for Paul to hear.

            “Oh, I know it will,” Paul says. “I just need to get rid of you, Steve. I need to make sure you can’t cause me any more trouble.”

            “The…the police don’t believe me,” Steve says carefully. “A detective was here earlier and said there’s no case. Everything will just…go away.”

            “Maybe for you, but do you know what my wife said when the police showed up at my house, Steve? She said she wanted a divorce. Because she believes you, and that’s all that matters.”

            Steve doesn’t want to state the obvious, that Paul hates his wife anyway, so he bites his tongue to prevent it from slipping out. Saying as much is probably a sure way to die faster.

            “I’m sorry,” Steve says, sounding earnest. “I didn’t say anything to anyone.”

            “Don’t lie, Steve. I know you ran off and made up stories about me.”

            Steve looks at Tony out of the corner of his eye. He looks rigid still, but somewhat calmer now that they’re standing together. Steve wonders if this is the first time Tony has been held at gun point, because if it is, he’s handling it very well.

            “Me and Tony were chatting about you before you came out,” Paul says. “I told him about how you like the things I did to you. How you asked me to do them.”

            “I never wanted you to hurt me,” Steve says carefully. “Or anyone.”

            “Don’t lie! You liked it! You begged me for more!”

            Steve is silent. He doesn’t want to make Paul any more angry than he is, but he also is not going to admit to something that isn’t true. If he is going to die, might as well be with a clean conscience.

            “And you, Tony. You have the most prestigious security in the whole country, and yet I was able to get in so easily. All I had to do was bring a couple bags of take out and the guard let me right through. You were so predictable. Can’t cook for yourselves because you’re so worthless. I just had to wait for the perfect time.”

            “Clearly a flaw in my security,” Tony murmurs.

            “How long will it take before they find your bodies?” Paul demands. “Days, hours?”

            “Probably a week,” Tony shrugs.

            Steve stares at him, his mouth agape. Why is Tony being so nonchalant?

            “I just want to know why, Steve,” Paul says. “Why did you leave me for _him_? I’ve got everything he does. Money, cars. I’ve got it all. I’m even more attractive than him!”

            “I wanted something real,” Steve says, his words still coming out slowly and carefully.

            “We had something real!”

            “You paid me for sex, Paul. That’s what it was.”

            “But we could have been real. We still can be!” Paul seems desperate suddenly, as if he just wants Steve to admit they had a relationship, that they could have been lovers.

            Steve shakes his head. “I don’t want to be with you. I’m sorry.”

            “It wouldn’t even be that hard. We could just kill Tony. No one would ever know. We could go back to the way things were before.”

            “I don’t want to hurt Tony,” Steve whispers.

            “Well, either way one or both of you are dying. You can live, Steve. You just have to come with me.”

            “No, Paul.”

            Steve starts to move slowly towards Paul. The gun rises to point at him, but he feels confident that he won’t actually get shot. He moves until he’s just a few feet away, reaching out his hand.

            “Let this be over, Paul. You can’t get out of this on your own. Let me help you.”

            “I don’t need your help!”

            “I can get you out of here before anyone ever knows. Just walk out the front door like this never happened.”

            “It’s too late for that! My life is over!”

            “It will be if you kill Tony,” Steve says. “So far you haven’t hurt anybody, right? We can just pretend this never happened. You can go home.”

            “I can’t go home! My wife left me because of _you_!”

            “I’ll tell her I lied, Paul. She’ll believe me.”

            Steve is inching forward, his fingertips just centimeters away from the barrel of the gun. If he can just get his hands around it, he can probably wrestle it away from Paul. And he’s pretty sure he can incapacitate the man. He is strong, and his body is full of adrenaline right now. His hands are shaking, but all he can think about is protecting Tony.

            “Just come with me, Paul,” Steve tries again. Millimeters, now. He can feel the barrel touch his finger. If he lunges he can rip it away from Paul. Just a little more…

            Paul is taken by complete surprise when Steve’s hand wraps around the gun and it is yanked from his hand in less than a second. Steve throws the gun towards Tony and then he tackles Paul, and suddenly every ounce of pain Paul had ever inflicted on him rises to the top. Steve takes Paul to the ground, sits on his chest, and punches him once, twice, three times. He’s just as confused as Paul is. He’s not even sure this is really happening.

            “Steve, Steve!” Tony yells, but Steve ignores him, continues to punch until he sees red blood on his knuckles. Not his blood this time. Paul’s blood.

            A few moments later, someone pulls Steve of Paul and he wants to fight back, but he realizes that it’s Tony’s security. The room is suddenly full of guards and police. Steve sits on the floor, blood on his hand, until Tony comes over to him slowly and crouches down next to him.

            “Steve,” Tony murmurs. “Are you alright?”

            Steve looks around, seeing Paul’s bloody face as the officers handcuff him. He definitely broke the man’s nose, that’s for sure. Paul still looks dazed, as if he can’t believe what has happened.

            “I…I’m sorry, Tony. I’m so sorry,” Steve begins. “I don’t know…why I did that. I couldn’t stop. I’m so sorry.” He rambles on, sobbing, but Tony just brings him in for a hug, and he doesn’t let him go for a long time.

            The room steadily clears until only the officers are left. They’ve done a good job at leaving Steve alone since their arrival, but now, one of them approaches the heap that is Steve on the floor.

            “Mr. Rogers, do you need medical attention?”

            Steve shakes his head no, but he doesn’t verbally respond.

            “How are you feeling, Steve?” the officer asks, crouching down so he can get a better look. “This must have been very frightening for you both.”

            “Can we do this another time?” Tony questions, his annoyance clear in his voice. He just wants the officers to leave. He wants to be alone with Steve so he can fix him, to let him know that everything is alright and it will be better from now on.

            “I need a statement from Mr. Rogers,” the officer says, but he stands up anyway. “Can you come down to the station after things have settled down a bit? Detective Blakely is overseeing this investigation now. He’ll want to talk to Steve as soon as possible.”

            Tony nods. “We’ll come later,” he agrees.

            The officer nods, and then suddenly the room is empty. It’s just Tony and Steve, and they’re still clutching each other tightly in the same spot on the floor.

            Tony can tell that Steve is in shock, and he probably does need medical attention. But he’s also pretty sure that when things have been quiet for a few minutes, Steve might just snap out of it. So they sit there together for quiet some time, maybe longer than Tony thought it would take, but eventually Steve reaches up with his hand and wipes his face as if expecting to clear away tears.

            “How you doing, babe?” Tony asks quietly.

            Steve stiffens for a millisecond, but he relaxes back into Tony’s embrace. “I’m sorry, Tony,” he says finally. “I shouldn’t act like this. I should…,” he trails off. “Are _you_ okay?”

            “I’m fine. Not the first time someone’s threatened to kill me, honestly. I get death threats all the time. It is the first time that someone I haven’t paid has tried to save me, though.” Tony grins, and his heart flutters when Steve just smiles slightly.

            “All I could think about was…how this was my fault. That you were going to die because of me.”

            Tony sighs. “I didn’t. I’m fine. I’m right here.”

            “But you could have!”

            Tony moves forward so he can press his lips against Steve’s cheek. Just a quick, gentle kiss but he sighs into it anyway. “I could have,” Tony acknowledges. “But I didn’t. Because you saved me.”

            Steve takes a deep breath and it shudders back out. He doesn’t want to get up, but his legs are falling asleep and he’s acted immature for long enough. He needs to get up so Tony can see that he is okay, that they are going to be okay.

            “Can we go lay down?” Steve asks quietly, and he gets to his feet in one swift motion.

            Tony nods. “I think that’s a good idea.” Tony pauses, and then he takes Steve’s wrist in his hand. “But first you need to wash this off.” He nods to the blood that is still staining Steve’s fingers, and Steve stares at it for a few seconds before he nods.

            Tony follows him into the bathroom where he washes his hand until it is red from the hot water. Then the two of them go to the bed and lay down, Steve in front of Tony, with Tony’s arms wrapped around to hold Steve comfortingly.

            “Don’t leave me,” Steve says. He means more of a short term thing, such as, don’t leave me if I fall asleep, but Tony nods anyway.

            “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

            Steve hugs Tony’s arms against his body and he closes his eyes, suddenly too tired to do anything else but fall asleep.

            Tony isn’t tired, so it takes him a while to fall asleep too. His mind is racing, and he wants to know where they’re taking Paul, what they’re going to charge him with, what security changes can he implement to prevent something like this from happening again. But eventually, he succumbs to the nap as well.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is now complete. Thank you everyone who read and commented :-)

SIXTEEN

 

            When Steve wakes up, he feels really warm. It’s so nice that his mind stays in a dream-like state for several seconds. It’s only when he realizes that the reason he feels warm is because Tony is still pressed up against him, snoozing away, that his eyes shoot open.

            He glances at the clock, realizing that he’d been able to sleep for a few hours. His brain feels refreshed, though his body is still a little stiff from the events of the afternoon. As the seconds tick by, though, the peace he feels is replaced by the feeling of fear he’d been experiencing since the beginning of Paul’s threats. His body goes a little stiff and he sighs, knowing that even though things should be over, they are far from over.

            “How’re you doing?” Tony questions tiredly.

            Steve looks down, realizing that he must have woken Tony up with his shifting. He sighs again, taking a long, deep breath, before nodding his head slowly. “I’m going to be okay,” he says, and it sounds like a promise.

            Tony shifts backwards a little bit so he can study Steve’s face, but he finally smiles. “I know you will,” he says. “Nothing can keep you down, right?”

            “Right.”

            “You want to get up?”

            “Not really.”

            “Okay.”

            They lay there together for a while longer, but Steve can feel Tony growing restless. He’s not very good at sitting when there are things to be done. Steve finally just grins and throws his legs over the edge of the bed.

            “Let’s get this over with,” Steve says confidently.

            “What?” Tony questions.

            “We need to go give our statements at the station. Then this can be over.”

            “You think it will be?”

            Steve shrugs. “Things are never that easy.”

            “Maybe this will be the one thing in the whole world that was meant to be easy for you.”

            “Maybe.”

            Tony stretches when he stands up, his shirt ridding up a bit. Steve’s fingers reach out and touch the skin there lightly, smiling when Tony shivers at the unexpected contact.

            “Yeah?” Tony says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

            Steve just grins. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” He presses closer to Tony, their lips meeting in a light embrace. When Steve finally takes a step back, Tony huffs a little.

            “We don’t have to go right now,” Tony says, his fingertips gripping Steve closer again.

            “Probably should, though.”

            “You sure?” Tony asks, his hands snaking under Steve’s shirt and resting on his hips.

            Steve debates for a moment, because as much as he’d just love to give in to Tony and relax under his touch, he also needs to get this thing with the police over with. He wants to be able to give his undivided attention to Tony, and right now, it’s split between how good Tony’s hands feel under his shirt and the uneasy feeling in his chest he’s had since shortly after waking up.

            “We should go,” Steve finally groans.

            Tony slowly withdraws his hands after one final, gentle, pinch to Steve’s nipple. “Alright, babe,” Tony agrees, and with a quick kiss he adds, “But later you’re mine.”

            Steve grins. “Absolutely.”

            The ride to the police station doesn’t take nearly long enough, and by the time they pull up, Steve’s stomach is in knots again. He’s not sure why he’s so afraid. He simply has to say what happened and then he can go on with his life, but the whole thing has him terrified.

            “It’s easy,” Tony says soothingly. “I’ve given lots of statements before.”

            “Really?”

            Tony just nods. “I’ve had plenty of stalkers, remember?”

            Steve takes a shallow breath, lets it out, and then bites his lip. He doesn’t even realize he’s biting until Tony reaches over and touches his mouth gently. “Don’t do that,” Tony says.

            Steve just smiles slowly. “Why not?”

            “Because it gets me hot and we’re about to walk into a police station and I’d rather not have to deal with it in there.”

            Steve grins anyway, shaking his head, but he slowly gets out of the car. Even though his head is ready, his body is still protesting. He is having trouble getting his feet to cooperate. Tony must notice, because he comes around and takes Steve’s hand in his.

            “Quick and easy,” Tony promises, and he leads the way into the precinct.

            Detective Blakely sees them immediately. He asks to speak with Tony first, which leaves Steve sitting on a bench outside the windowless room. True to Tony’s word, he’s only in there for about five minutes, and he has a smile on his face when he comes back out.

            “Nothing too crazy,” Tony promises. “Just a few questions about what happened.”

            Steve nods, but when the detective closes the door behind him he realizes, suddenly, that he’s not quite sure what really happened. Everything unfolded so fast, and Steve was in shock.

            “Mr. Rogers,” the detective greets him. “Thank you for coming down. I’ve heard a bit from Mr. Stark. Just need to hear your side of things, and we can wrap this all up.”

            “Is Paul still here?” Steve questions.

            “He’s been moved to an overnight holding cell,” Blakely says.

            “Just overnight?”

            “From there, he’ll be taken to the county jail to await arraignment.”

            “What’s he being charged with?”

            “Let’s talk about what happened first,” Blakely says. “Don’t worry, I just have a few questions about it.”

            Steve nods, feeling his palms sweat.

            “Do you know how Mr. Swanson gained entry into your home?”

            “Tony’s home,” Steve corrects. “And he said he pretended to be a delivery service. Tony had ordered food.”

            “Where were you when Mr. Swanson first entered your—Mr. Stark’s—home?”

            “I was in the shower.”

            “When did you become aware that Mr. Swanson was there?”

            “I came out of the bathroom to go find Tony, and then I saw Paul with a gun pointed at Tony.”

            “Did Mr. Swanson say anything to you?”

            “He said he was going to kill both of us, and then he said if I helped him kill Tony, he’d let me live.”

            “How did you get the gun away from Mr. Swanson, before the police arrived?”

            “I just…,” Steve stalls for a second. He can’t remember how that happened. It was so fast, but it was so slow, too. “I was talking to him, and then I pulled the gun out of his hands.”

            “Are you aware that you fractured Mr. Swanson’s nose, as well as his jaw?”

            “No.”

            “Mr. Rogers, when the police arrived at the scene, they pulled you off Mr. Swanson. You were beating him. Do you remember that?”

            Steve nods. “Yes.”

            “Do you think it was excessive use of force, considering you had already taken the gun away from him?”

            Steve sucks in a breath, but he eventually just shrugs. “I was scared for Tony,” he says. “I thought Paul might…get up and shoot him somehow.”

            Blakely writes something down, but he finally just closes his notebook.

            “Mr. Swanson wanted to press charges against you for breaking his nose. We told him he could not, as this happened during the break in and you have a right to defend yourself. We have security footage from Mr. Stark corroborating the events as you have stated, so from my point of view, you have nothing to worry about, Steve. As for Mr. Swanson, he’s being charged with breaking and entering, obtaining an unlicensed weapon with intent to kill, making terroristic threats against Mr. Stark, among other things. He will spend quite a long time behind bars, Steve. You can bet Mr. Stark’s lawyers will see to that.”

            Steve blinks a few times, trying to process the information. “Is it…over?” he asks.

            Blakely nods, but he pauses. “There will be trial, of course. You may be called as a witness, but it’s just a formality.”

            What happens after that is all a blur to Steve. Blakely walks him to the door, Tony embraces him on the other side, and they are excused and allowed to go home. Steve doesn’t remember walking to the car, or Tony reaching across to buckle him in, or even the ride back to the tower. Finally, when Tony comes around to his side of the car and opens the door, Steve looks up and realizes that he’s been a ghost for too long.

            “You doing okay?” Tony questions quietly, reaching in to undo Steve’s seat belt.

            Steve runs a hand across his face, trying to form words because he knows he needs to say something. Otherwise Tony might begin to worry, and he doesn’t want to be the cause of any more stress in Tony’s life.

            “I’m alright,” Steve finally manages.

            “Let’s get inside,” Tony suggests. “Have a bath. Have some dinner. It’ll help your head settle down.”

            Steve is vaguely aware that he nods, but his legs follow Tony inside, up to the 51st floor, and into the bathroom. Tony starts the bath water and then tugs at the hem of Steve’s shirt, slowly lifting it until he can drop it onto the tile floor. He makes work of Steve’s pants, eventually getting them around his ankles so Steve can just step out of them.

            “Get in,” Tony says, nudging Steve gently. “I’m coming too.”

            Steve lowers himself into the water and then turns to watch Tony undress. He likes the way Tony’s muscles move under his skin, the way the light trail of hair from his belly button runs south. He likes the way Tony looks naked, and if he weren’t stuck inside his own head, he’d probably he hard right now.

            The water sloshes a bit when Tony sits down. Steve’s eyes tear away from the place Tony was just standing to look at his face, surprised when he doesn’t see confusion or disdain, but just pure, gentle eyes looking back at him.

            “We’ve had a rough couple weeks,” Tony murmurs, taking Steve’s foot from his side of the tub and bringing it towards himself. He massages the sole, runs his hands up the ankle, but stops just below the knee.

            “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble,” Steve says quietly.

            “You didn’t cause any trouble,” Tony insists, and his voice is firm.

            “I drug you into my problems.”

            “You didn’t drag me anywhere,” Tony sighs. “If I didn’t want to be here, going through this with you, then I wouldn’t be.”

            “You shouldn’t have to go through it.”

            “No,” Tony agrees, “but neither should you. You haven’t done anything wrong. Sometimes people in this world are just messed up in the head, and we’re the unlucky ones who find them.”

            “Am I messed up?” Steve questions.

            “If you even think that you’re on the same level as Paul, then yes, you’re messed up,” Tony says, his words coming out more harsh than he’d intended. He sighs and takes a breath. “That’s not what I mean. I just…want you to know how much I care about you.”

            Steve’s eyes widen a bit. “You do?”

            “Of course, Steve. From the very first time we met, I was attracted to you. And from there I started falling for you. It’s just the little things you do. The way you smile, the way you bite your lip. The way you’re always trying to take care of me.”

            “You’re…falling for me?”

            Tony’s fingers stop dancing around Steve’s foot under the water and his eyes snap up to Steve’s. “Yes,” he answers simply. “And I guess I thought, or at least hoped, that you felt the same way.”

            Steve doesn’t know how to respond, so he just stares back, trying to get his thoughts to form into words. Tony doesn’t know that he’s Steve’s first real relationship, or that he’d given up his other life just for a chance to be with Tony. Tony doesn’t know that Steve likes the little things he does, too, like the way he puts off projects until the last minute, or the way he’s supportive in such a nonchalant way. Tony doesn’t know that Steve has been falling for him since they first met, too.

            He doesn’t say any of these things, though. Instead, he cautiously says, “I’m afraid I’ll be too much for you.”

            Tony looks a little shocked. “Babe, I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

            Steve blushes a little, but he shakes his head. “I just…am worried that you don’t know enough about me, about the things I’ve done.”

            Tony shrugs. “I don’t really need to know about your past to know who you are now.”

            “It doesn’t bother you that I used to…,” Steve trails off, feeling guilty even thinking it. “That I used to sell my body to strangers just to pay my bills?”

            “It bothers me that you thought you had to do it,” Tony sighs. “I wish we’d met ten years ago, Steve. I’d have saved you. I’d have spent every day loving you and showing you how much you deserve to be loved.”

            Steve blushes again. “You think so?” he practically whispers.

            “I know that you’re an amazing man, and an amazing artist, and if somebody had just told you that a long time ago, maybe you’d believe it too.”

            Tony moves again, this time coming forward to press himself against Steve. Their lips meet, just briefly, before Tony pulls back an inch. “I know so,” Tony says, and then he kisses Steve again. He tries to convey everything he’s ever felt for the other man into the kiss, his want and need and desire and _love_. When Tony pulls away again, he sees Steve’s eyes begin to water.

            “What’s wrong, Steve? Just tell me.”

            Steve wipes his face, managing to get it more wet so Tony doesn’t notice the tear leaking onto his cheek. “I just feel so…overwhelmed by you,” Steve confesses.

            “Is that a good thing?”

            “I think so.”

            “Good. Because I want to overwhelm you.”

            Tony presses his body against Steve’s again, this time not pulling back. It takes a few seconds for Steve to catch up but he quickly meets Tony’s kiss with the same fervor. They stay like that for several moments until both of them are out of breath. Steve is the one to pull away, resting his forehead against Tony’s while they pant.

            “I want you,” Tony says when he can breathe again. “And not just for the sex. I want you to _be_ with me, and stay with me, and I want you to be mine. Will you be mine, Steve? Please?”

            Steve bites his lip, but he smiles when he sees Tony glance down at it, and feels him becoming hard just from the sight of something so simple.

            “I’d like that, Tony,” Steve says, nodding his head. “I want to be with you, too.”

            “I want you to move in with me. I want to wake up with you. I want to watch you make art and I want you to be happy.”

            “I can try,” Steve agrees.

            Tony stands up, seemingly unable to handle the emotion in the bathtub anymore. He yanks Steve up by the hand and they head for the bedroom, not bothering to dry off by the time Tony has Steve on his back on the bed.

            “Be mine, Steve,” Tony says again. “I’ll take care of you. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. Just say you’ll be mine.”

            Steve groans when Tony’s hand wraps around him, and he says wantonly, “I’ll be yours, Tony, if you’ll be mine, too.”

 

MONTHS LATER

           

            When Steve wakes up from a dream, Tony’s naked body is still wrapped around him. Tony’s legs are intertwined with his, and his arm is draped around Steve’s chest. It takes a few moments to free himself from the grasp, but eventually Steve stands up and reaches into his dresser drawer for a pair of boxers.

            He wanders into the living room and rubs the tiredness from his eyes. The dream he’d been having was such a good one that he wants to draw the scenery while it’s still fresh in his head.

            His art supplies are in the corner of the room, out of the way but still accessible, while his studio on one of the lower floors is being finished. He doesn’t need much, just a sketch pad, but it takes him a few seconds to dig through the pile of supplies until he finds the right pencil. He sits down on the couch and begins working, adding detail and shading until the sun peaks over the horizon.

            It’s been a rare week for him, and today is a rare day. It’s the first day that he hasn’t had to be at a gallery to turn in his work for the show, and it’s the first time in a long time that he had met the deadline in advance. Tony had been pushing him to finish up the pieces for the show, and he was grateful for the extra encouragement.

            Steve draws until he hears Tony’s alarm clock go off and then he goes back into the bedroom to make sure the other man actually gets up. Tony has a morning meeting that his CEO said he could not miss, and she’d even tasked Steve with ensuring Tony got there on time. But waking Tony up before he was ready was like waking the dead, and it takes a lot of coaxing to actually make him rise out of the bed.

            “I don’t have to go,” Tony insists.

            “I disagree.”

            “You’re just trying to get me out of the house.”

            “I promised I’d get you to the meeting on time. I keep my promises.”

            “But I need a few more minutes of sleep. Just five. Five minutes.”

            Steve instead leans in and kisses Tony awake, but when he feels Tony start to deepen the kiss he pulls back.

            “I’ll give you a reward if you make it on time,” Steve teases.

            Tony pretend pouts, but he starts going through his closet for a suit to wear. He finally finds one and puts it on, tugging uncomfortably at the tie until Steve comes up behind him and reties it.

            “You look great,” Steve compliments.

            “So do you,” Tony replies, looking Steve over from head to toe. Steve is still just in his boxers, so he rolls his eyes.

            “Get going,” Steve insists. “The car’s already waiting out front for you.”

            “Yeah, yeah. You could come with me, you know.”

            Steve shrugs. “I’m busy catching up on doing nothing,” he says back.

            Tony nods, understanding. He knows that this is Steve’s first day off in a long time, so he doesn’t pester him anymore. “I’ll be back by lunch,” Tony says hopefully. “Will my man have me a sandwich made?”

            “Maybe even two sandwiches,” Steve promises.

            “Or should I bring something back from town?”

            “I’ll make something,” Steve says. “It’ll be a surprise.”

            Tony smiles and then kisses Steve as he walks onto the elevator. “I’ll miss you,” Tony calls as the doors are shutting.

            “Miss you too,” Steve smiles back.

            He keeps grinning even when he knows Tony can’t see him anymore and he goes back to drawing. He spends another hour just doodling before he gets up and checks the refrigerator for ingredients for lunch.

            Steve doesn’t even realize he’s humming as he works, or that the smile on his face hasn’t faded, or that he’s happy. It’s a feeling that he’s become so familiar with that he can’t even remember the last time he was _un_ happy. He just knows he likes the way he feels, and it makes him smile, and he likes to smile.

             Shortly before Tony arrives back home, Steve gets a text message from the curator of the latest art show asking if he’ll be able to make the show or not, because tickets have been reserved for him just in case. Steve declines the offer though, because he doesn’t need to be present at the show. He’s had a dozen successful sales in the last month alone, and people know his name well enough without his face standing there too. And he wants the night off. Just to spend time with Tony with no responsibilities.

            When Tony comes home, he’s got a single blue violet between his fingers. His eyes are grinning as much as his lips are, and Steve just stands there, staring at Tony, wondering how he could ever love anybody the way he loves Tony. Tony just smiles back, kisses him, and wraps his arms tightly around Steve’s body.

            “Missed you,” Tony breathes.

            “Missed you too.”

            “What’s for lunch?” Tony questions.

            Steve shows him the food he’s prepared, and suddenly the domestic feeling hits him again. He doesn’t mind it, though. This time he’s prepared. This time he’s happy to know that this feeling is okay and is appreciated and even reciprocated.

            “Looks great,” Tony murmurs, turning so he can kiss Steve again. The kiss lasts for several moments. Not too deep, but enough to convey emotions and feelings for both of them.

            When Steve pulls back, he looks at Tony again. They just smile at each other. This moment feels perfect.


End file.
